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i6mo,  $1.25. 

Mr.  Crawford's  new  book  is  as  clever  in  its  way  as  its  precursors,  and, 
indeed,  displays  a  faculty  of  which  they  gave  but  faint  indications,  if  any 
—  that  of  writing  aphorisms,  almost  epigrams,  with  a  cynical  flavor  per 
ceptible,  though  not  dominating  them.  —  Rev.  DR.  R.  F.  LITTLEDALE, 
Academy,  London. 

This  is  a  story  of  absorbing  interest.  .  .  .  From  an  artist's  point  of 
view  this  story  displays  growth.  Mr.  Crawford's  hand  is  firmer,  his 
touch  more  unfaltering  and  effective,  his  material  simpler,  than  when 
he  captured  us  all  by  "  Mr.  Isaacs." —  The  Week  (Toronto). 

Mr.  Marion  Crawford  in  his  new  novel  "To  Leeward"  has  achieved 
his  greatest  success ;  indeed,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  work 
takes  a  high  place  in  the  ranks  of  modern  fiction.  —  Vanity  Fair  (Lon 
don). 

The  character  painting  of  the  story  is  admirable.  —  Boston  Gazette. 

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  Publishers, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER 


F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR  OF  "MR.    ISAACS,"    "DOCTOR  CLAUDIUS,"    "TO   LEEWARD" 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
New  York:  11   East  Seventeenth  Street 


1884 


Copyright,  1883  and  1884, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.  AND  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Iloughton  &  Co. 


PS 

|455 


A  ROMAN   SINGER. 


I. 

I,  COENELIO  GRANDI,  who  tell  you  these  things, 
have  a  story  of  my  own,  of  which  some  of  you  are 
not  ignorant.  You  know,  for  one  thing,  that  I  was 
not  always  poor,  nor  always  a  professor  of  philos 
ophy,  nor  a  scribbler  of  pedantic  articles  for  a 
living.  Many  of  you  can  remember  why  I  was 
driven  to  sell  my  patrimony,  the  dear  castello  in 
the  Sabines,  with  the  good  corn-land  and  the  vine 
yards  in  the  valley,  and  the  olives,  too.  For  I  am 
not  old  yet ;  at  least,  Mariuccia  is  older,  as  I  often 
tell  her.  These  are  queer  times.  It  was  not  any 
fault  of  mine.  But  now  that  Nino  is  growing  to  be 
a  famous  man  in  the  world,  and  people  are  saying 
good  things  and  bad  about  him,  and  many  say  that 
he  did  wrong  in  this  matter,  I  think  it  best  to  tell 
you  all  the  whole  truth  and  what  I  think  of  it. 
For  Nino  is  just  like  a  son  to  me  ;  I  brought  him 
up  from  a  little  child,  and  taught  him  Latin,  and 
would  have  made  a  philosopher  of  him.  What 
could  I  do  ?  He  had  so  much  voice  that  he  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it. 


4  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

His  mother  used  to  sing.  What  a  piece  of  a 
woman  she  was !  She  had  a  voice  like  a  man's, 
and  when  De  Pretis  brought  his  singers  to  the 
festa  once  upon  a  time,  when  I  was  young,  he  heard 
her  far  down  below,  as  we  walked  on  the  terrace 
of  the  palazzo,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  not  let  him 
educate  that  young  tenor.  And  when  I  told  him  it 
was  one  of  the  contadine,  the  wife  of  a  tenant  of 
mine,  he  would  not  believe  it.  But  I  never  heard 
her  sing  after  Serafino  —  that  was  her  husband  — 
was  killed  at  the  fair  in  Genazzano.  And  one  day 
the  fevers  took  her,  and  so  she  died,  leaving  Nino  a 
little  baby.  Then  you  know  what  happened  to  me, 
about  that  time,  and  how  I  sold  Castel  Serveti  and 
came  to  live  here  in  Rome.  Nino  was  brought  to 
me  here.  One  day  in  the  autumn,  a  carrettiere 
from  Serveti,  who  would  sometimes  stop  at  my 
door  and  leave  me  a  basket  of  grapes  in  the  vin 
tage,  or  a  pitcher  of  fresh  oil  in  winter,  because  he 
never  used  to  pay  his  house-rent  when  I  was  his 
landlord  —  but  he  is  a  good  fellow,  Gigi  —  and  so 
he  tries  to  make  amends  now ;  well,  as  I  was  say 
ing,  he  came  one  day  and  gave  me  a  great  basket 
of  fine  grapes,  and  he  brought  Nino  with  him,  a  lit 
tle  boy  of  scarce  six  years  —  just  to  show  him  to 
me,  he  said. 

He  was  an  ugly  little  boy,  with  a  hat  of  no  par 
ticular  shape  and  a  dirty  fece.  He  had  great  black 
eyes,  with  ink-saucers  under  them,  calamai,  as  we 
say,  just  as  he  has  now.  Only  the  eyes  are  bigger 
now,  and  the  circles  deeper.  But  he  is  still  suffi- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  5 

ciently  ugly.  If  it  were  not  for  his  figure,  which  is 
pretty  good,  he  could  never  have  made  a  fortune 
with  his  voice.  De  Pretis  says  he  could,  but  I  do 
not  believe  it. 

Well,  I  made  Gigi  come  in  with  Nino,  and 
Mariuccia  made  them  each  a  great  slice  of  toasted 
bread  and  spread  it  with  oil,  and  gave  Gigi  a  glass 
of  the  Serveti  wine,  and  little  Nino  had  some  with 
water.  And  Mariuccia  begged  to  have  the  child 
left  with  her  till  Gigi  went  back  the  next  day ;  for 
she  is  fond  of  children  and  comes  from  Serveti 
herself.  And  that  is  how  Nino  came  to  live  with 
us.  That  old  woman  has  110  principles  of  economy, 
and  she  likes  children. 

"  What  does  a  little  creature  like  that  eat  ? " 
said  she.  "  A  bit  of  bread,  a  little  soup  —  macche  ! 
You  will  never  notice  it,  I  tell  you.  And  the  poor 
thing  has  been  living  on  charity.  Just  imagine 
whether  you  are  not  quite  as  able  to  feed  him  as 
Gigi  is !  "  So  she  persuaded  me.  But  at  first  I  did 
it  to  please  her,  for  I  told  her  our  proverb,  which 
says  there  can  be  nothing  so  untidy  about  a  house 
as  children  and  chickens.  He  was  such  a  dirty 
little  boy,  with  only  one  shoe  and  a  battered  hat, 
and  he  was  always  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice 
and  throwing  things  into  the  well  in  the  cortile. 

Mariuccia  can  read  a  little,  though  I  never  be 
lieved  it  until  I  found  her  one  day  teaching  Nino 
his  letters  out  of  the  Vite  dei  Santi.  That  was 
probably  the  first  time  that  her  reading  was  ever  of 
any  use  to  her,  and  the  last,  for  I  think  she  knows 


6  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  Lives  of  the  Saints  by  heart,  and  she  will  cer 
tainly  not  venture  to  read  a  new  book  at  her  age. 
However,  Nino  very  soon  learned  to  know  as  much 
as  she,  and  she  will  always  be  able  to  say  that  she 
laid  the  foundation  of  his  education.  He  soon 
forgot  to  throw  handfuls  of  mud  into  the  well,  and 
Mariuccia  washed  him,  and  I  bought  him  a  pair  of 
shoes,  and  we  made  him  look  very  decent.  After 
a  time  he  did  not  even  remember  to  pull  the  cat's 
tail  in  the  morning,  so  as  to  make  her  sing  with 
him,  as  he  said.  When  Mariuccia  went  to  church 
she  would  take  him  with  her,  and  he  seemed  very 
fond  of  going,  so  that  I  asked  him  one  day  if  he 
would  like  to  be  a  priest  when  he  grew  up,  and 
wear  beautiful  robes  and  have  pretty  little  boys  to 
wait  on  him  with  censers  in  their  hands. 

"  No,"  said  the  little  urchin,  stoutly,  "  I  won't 
be  a  priest."  He  found  in  his  pocket  a  roast 
chestnut  Mariuccia  had  given  him,  and  began  to 
shell  it. 

"  Why  are  you  always  so  fond  of  going  to  church, 
then?"  Tasked. 

"If  I  were  a  big  man,"  quoth  he,  "but  really 
big,  I  would  sing  in  church,  like  •  Maestro  de 
Pretis." 

"  What  would  you  sing,  Nino  ?  "  said  I,  laughing. 
He  looked  very  grave  and  got  a  piece  of  brown 
paper  and  folded  it  up.  Then  he  began  to  beat 
time  on  my  knees  and  sang  out  boldly,  Cornu  ejus 
exaltabitur. 

It  was  enough  to  make  one  laugh,  for  he  was 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  7 

only  seven  years  old,  and  ugly  too.  But  Mariuccia, 
who  was  knitting  in  the  hall-way,  called  out  that 
it  was  just  what  Maestro  Ercole  had  sung  the  day 
before  at  vespers,  every  syllable. 

I  have  an  old  piano  in  my  sitting-room.  It  is  a 
masterpiece  of  an  instrument,  I  can  tell  you ;  for 
one  of  the  legs  is  gone  and  I  propped  it  up  with 
two  empty  boxes,  and  the  keys  are  all  black  except 
those  that  have  lost  the  ivory,  —  and  those  are 
green.  It  has  also  five  pedals,  disposed  as  a  harp 
underneath ;  but  none  of  them  make  any  impres 
sion  on  the  sound,  except  the  middle  one,  which 
rings  a  bell.  The  sound-board  has  a  crack  in  it 
somewhere,  Nino  says,  and  two  of  the  notes  are 
dumb  since  the  great  German  maestro  came  home 
with  my  boy  one  night,  and  insisted  on  playing 
an  accompaniment  after  supper.  We  had  stewed 
chickens  and  a  flask  of  Cesanese,  I  remember,  and 
I  knew  something  would  happen  to  the  piano.  But 
Nino  would  never  have  any  other,  for  De  Pretis  has 
a  very  good  one  ;  and  Nino  studies  without  any 
thing  —  just  a  common  tuning  fork  that  he  car 
ries  in  his  pocket.  But  the  old  piano  was  the  be 
ginning  of  his  fame.  He  got  into  the  sitting-room 
one  day,  by  himself,  and  found  out  that  he  could 
make  a  noise  by  striking  the  keys,  and  then  he  dis 
covered  that  he  could  make  tunes,  and  pick  out  the 
ones  that  were  always  ringing  in  his  head.  After 
that  he  could  hardly  be  dragged  away  from  it,  so 
that  I  sent  him  to  school  to  have  some  quiet  in  the 
house. 


8  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

He  was  a  clever  boy,  and  I  taught  him  Latin  and 
gave  him  our  poets  to  read ;  and  as  he  grew  up  I 
would  have  made  a  scholar  of  him,  but  he  would 
not.  At  least,  he  was  always  willing  to  learn  and 
to  read ;  but  he  was  always  singing,  too.  Once  I 
caught  him  declaiming  "  Arma  virumque  cano  "  to 
an  air  from  the  Trovatore,  and  knew  he  could 
never  be  a  scholar  then,  though  he  might  know  a 
great  deal.  Besides,  he  always  preferred  Dante  to 
Virgil,  and  Leopardi  to  Horace. 

One  day,  when  he  was  sixteen  or  thereabouts,  he 
was  making  a  noise,  as  usual,  shouting  some  motive 
or  other  to  Mariuccia  and  the  cat,  while  I  was 
laboring  to  collect  my  senses  over  a  lecture  I  had  to 
prepare.  Suddenly  his  voice  cracked  horribly  and 
his  singing  ended  in  a  sort  of  groan.  It  hap 
pened  again  once  or  twice,  the  next  day,  and  then 
the  house  was  quiet.  I  found  him  at  night  asleep 
over  the  old  piano,  his  eyes  all  wet  with  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Nino?"  I  asked.  "It  is 
time  for  youngsters  like  you  to  be  in  bed." 

"Ah,  Messer  Cornelio,"  he  said,  when  he  was 
awake,  "  I  had  better  go  to  bed,  as  you  say.  I  shall 
never  sing  again,  for  my  voice  is  all  broken  to 
pieces ;  "  and  he  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  The  saints  be  praised,"  thought  I ;  "  I  shall 
make  a  philosopher  of  you  yet !  " 

But  he  would  not  be  comforted,  and  for  several 
months  he  went  about  as  if  he  were  trying  to  find 
the  moon,  as  we  say ;  and  though  he  read  his  books 
and  made  progress,  he  was  always  sad  and  wretched, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.       .  9 

and  grew  much  thinner,  so  that  Mariuccia  said  he 
was  consuming  himself,  and  I  thought  he  must  be 
in  love.  But  the  house  was  very  quiet. 

I  thought  as  he  did,  that  he  would  never  sing 
again,  but  I  never  talked  to  him  about  it,  lest  he 
should  try,  now  that  he  was  as  quiet  as  a  nightin 
gale  with  its  tongue  cut  out.  But  nature  meant 
differently,  I  suppose.  One  day  De  Pretis  came  to 
see  me ;  it  must  have  been  near  the  new  year,  for 
he  never  came  often  at  that  time.  It  was  only  a 
friendly  recollection  of  the  days  when  I  had  a  cas- 
tello  and  a  church  of  my  own  at  Serveti,  and  used 
to  have  him  come  from  Rome  to  sing  at  the  festa, 
and  he  came  every  year  to  see  me  ;  and  his  head 
grew  bald  as  mine  grew  gray,  so  that  at  last  he 
wears  a  black  skull  cap  everywhere,  like  a  priest, 
and  only  takes  it  off  when  he  sings  the  Gloria  Patri, 
or  at  the  Elevation.  However,  he  came  to  see  me, 
and  Nino  sat  mutely  by,  as  we  smoked  a  little  and 
drank  the  syrup  of  violets  with  water  that  Mariuccia 
brought  us.  It  was  one  of  her  external  extrava 
gances,  but  somehow,  though  she  never  understood 
the  value  of  economy,  my  professorship  brought  in 
more  than  enough  for  us,  and  it  was  not  long  after 
this  that  I  began  to  buy  the  bit  of  vineyard  out  of 
Porta  Salara,  by  installments  from  my  savings. 
And  since  then,  we  have  our  own  wine. 

De  Pretis  was  talking  to  me  about  a  new  opera 
that  he  had  heard.  He  never  sang  except  in  church, 
of  course,  but  he  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  of  an 
evening ;  so  it  was  quite  natural  that  he  should  go 


10  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

to  the  piano  and  begin  to  sing  a  snatch  of  the  tenor 
air  to  me,  explaining  the  situation  as  he  went  along, 
between  his  singing. 

Nino  could  not  sit  still,  and  went  and  leaned  over 
Sor  Ercole,  as  we  call  the  maestro,  hanging  on  the 
notes,  not  daring  to  try  and  sing,  for  he  had  lost  his 
voice,  but  making  the  words  with  his  lips. 

"  Dio  mio  !  "  he  cried  at  last,  "  how  I  wish  I  could 
sing  that !  " 

"  Try  it,"  said  De  Pretis,  laughing  and  half  in 
terested  by  the  boy's  earnest  look.  "  Try  it  —  I 
will  sing  it  again."  But  Nino's  face  fell. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  he  said.  "  My  voice  is  all  broken 
to  pieces  now,  because  I  sang  too  much  before." 

"  Perhaps  it  will  come  back,"  said  the  musician 
kindly,  seeing  the  tears  in  the  young  fellow's  63^68. 
"  See,  we  will  try  a  scale."  He  struck  a  chord. 
"  Now,  open  your  mouth  —  so  —  Do-o-o-o !  "  He 
sang  a  long  note.  Nino  could  not  resist  any  longer, 
whether  he  had  any  voice  or  not.  He  blushed  red 
and  turned  away,  but  he  opened  his  mouth  and 
made  a  sound. 

"  Do-o-o-o  !  "  He  sang  like  the  master,  but  much 
weaker. 

"  Not  so  bad ;  now  the  next,  Re-e-e  !  "  Nino  fol 
lowed  him.  And  so  on,  up  the  scale. 

After  a  few  more  notes,  De  Pretis  ceased  to  smile, 
and  cried,  "  Go  on,  go  on !  "  after  every  note,  au 
thoritatively,  and  in  quite  a  different  manner  from 
his  first  kindly  encouragement.  Nino,  who  had  not 
sung  for  months,  took  courage  and  a  long  breath, 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  11 

and  went  on  as  he  was  bid,  his  voice  gaining  volume 
and  clearness  as  he  sang  higher.  Then  De  Pretis 
stopped  and  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  said.  "  You  have  not  lost 
your  voice  at  all." 

"  It  was  quite  different  when  I  used  to  sing  be 
fore,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Per  Bacco,  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  maestro. 
"  Your  voice  has  changed.  Sing  something,  can't 

you?" 

Nino  sang  a  church  air  he  had  caught  some 
where.  1  never  heard  such  a  voice,  but  it  gave  me 
a  queer  sensation  that  I  liked  —  it  was  so  true,  and 
young,  and  clear.  De  Pretis  sat  open-mouthed  with 
astonishment  and  admiration.  When  the  boy  had 
finished,  he  stood  looking  at  the  maestro,  blushing 
very  scarlet,  and  altogether  ashamed  of  himself. 
The  other  did  not  speak. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Nino,  "  I  cannot  sing.  I 
have  not  sung  for  a  long  time.  I  know  it  is  not 
worth  anything."  De  Pretis  recovered  himself. 

"  You  do  not  sing,"  said  he,  "  because  you  have 
not  learned.  But  you  can.  If  you  will  let  me 
teach  you,  I  will  do  it  for  nothing." 

"  Me !  "  screamed  Nino,  "  you  teach  me  !  Ah,  if 
it  were  any  use  —  if  you  only  would  !  " 

"  Any  use  ?  "  repeated  De  Pretis  half  aloud,  as 
he  bit  his  long  black  cigar  half  through  in  his  ex 
citement.  "  Any  use  ?  My  dear  boy,  do  you  know 
that  you  have  a  very  good  voice  ?  A  remarkable 
voice,"  he  continued,  carried  away  by  his  admira- 


12  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

tion,  "  such  a  voice  as  I  have  never  heard.  You 
can  be  the  first  tenor  of  your  age,  if  you  please  — 
in  three  years  you  will  sing  anything  you  like, 
and  go  to  London  and  Paris,  and  be  a  great  man. 
Leave  it  to  me." 

I  protested  that  it  was  all  nonsense,  that  Nino 
was  meant  for  a  scholar  and  not  for  the  stage,  and 
I  was  quite  angry  with  De  Pretis  for  putting  such 
ideas  into  the  boy's  head.  But  it  was  of  no  use. 
You  cannot  argue  with  women  and  singers,  and 
they  always  get  their  own  way  in  the  end.  And 
whether  I  liked  it  or  not,  Nino  began  to  go  to  Sor 
Ercole's  house  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  sang  scales 
and  exercises  very  patiently,  and  copied  music  in 
the  evening,  because  he  said  he  would  not  be  de 
pendent  on  me,  since  he  could  not  follow  my  wishes 
in  choosing  a  profession.  De  Pretis  did  not  praise 
him  much  to  his  face  after  they  had  begun  to  study, 
but  he  felt  sure  he  would  succeed. 

"Caro  Conte,"  —  he  often  calls  me  Count,  though 
I  am  only  plain  Professore,  now  —  "  he  has  a  voice 
like  a  trumpet,  and  the  patience  of  all  the  angels. 
He  will  be  a  great  singer." 

"Well,  it  is  not  my  fault,"  I  used  to  answer; 
for  what  could  I  do  ? 

When  you  see  Nino  now,  you  cannot  imagine 
that  he  was  ever  a  dirty  little  boy  from  the  moun 
tains,  with  one  shoe,  and  that  infamous  little  hat. 
I  think  he  is  ugly  still,  though  you  do  not  think  so 
when  he  is  singing,  and  he  has  good  strong  limbs 
and  broad  shoulders,  and  carries  himself  like  a  sol- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  13 

dier.  Besides,  he  is  always  very  well  dressed, 
though  he  has  no  affectations.  He  does  not  wear 
his  hair  plastered  into  a  love  lock  011  his  forehead, 
like  some  of  our  dandies,  nor  is  he  eternally  pull 
ing  a  pair  of  monstrous  white  cuffs  over  his  hands. 
Everything  is  very  neat  about  him,  and  very  quiet, 
so  that  you  would  hardly  think  he  was  an  artist 
after  all;  and  he  talks  but  little,  though  he  can 
talk  very  well  when  he  likes,  for  he  has  not  forgot 
ten  his  Dante  nor  his  Leopardi.  De  Pretis  says 
the  reason  he  sings  so  well  is  because  he  has  a 
mouth  like  the  slit  in  an  organ  pipe,  as  wide  as  a 
letter-box  at  the  post-office.  But  I  think  he  has 
succeeded  because  he  has  great  square  jaws  like 
Napoleon.  People  like  that  always  succeed.  My 
jaw  is  small,  and  my  chin  is  pointed  under  my 
beard  —  but  then,  with  the  beard  no  one  can  see 
it.  But  Mariuccia  knows. 

Nino  is  a  thoroughly  good  boy,  and  until  a  year 
ago  he  never  cared  for  anything  but  his  art ;  and 
now  he  cares  for  something,  I  think,  a  great  deal 
better  than  art,  even  than  art  like  his.  But  he  is 
a  singer  still,  and  always  will  be,  for  he  has  an  iron 
throat,  and  never  was  hoarse  in  his  life.  All  those 
years  when  he  was  growing  up,  he  never  had  a  love- 
scrape,  or  owed  money,  or  wasted  his  time  in  the 
caffe. 

"  Take  care,"  Mariuccia  used  to  say  to  me,  "  if 
he  ever  takes  a  fancy  to  some  girl  with  blue  eyes 
and  fair  hair,  he  will  be  perfectly  crazy.  Ah,  Sor 
Conte,  she  had  blue  eyes,  and  her  hair  was  like  the 


14  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

corn-silk.  How  many  years  is  that,  Sor  Conte 
mio?"  Mariuccia  is  an  old  witch. 

I  am  writing  this  story  to  tell  you  why  Mariuc 
cia  is  a  witch,  and  why  my  Nino,  who  never  so  much 
as  looked  at  the  beauties  of  the  generone,  as  they 
came  with  their  fathers  and  brothers  and  mothers 
to  eat  ice-cream  in  the  Piazza  Colonna,  and  listen 
to  the  music  of  a  summer's  evening,  —  Nino,  who 
stared  absently  at  the  great  ladies  as  they  rolled 
over  the  Pincio  in  their  carriages,  and  was  whist 
ling  airs  to  himself  for  practice  when  he  strolled 
along  the  Corso,  instead  of  looking  out  for  pretty 
faces,  —  Nino,  the  cold  in  all  things  save  in  mu 
sic,  why  he  fulfilled  Mariuccia' s  prophecy,  little  by 
little,  and  became  perfectly  crazy  about  blue  eyes 
and  fair  hair.  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell 
you,  if  you  have  the  leisure  to  listen.  And  you 
ought  to  know  it,  because  evil  tongues  are  more 
plentiful  than  good  voices  in  Rome,  as  elsewhere, 
and  people  are  saying  many  spiteful  things  about 
him,  —  though  they  clap  loudly  enough  at  the  the 
atre  when  he  sings. 

He  is  like  a  son  to  me,  and  perhaps  I  am  recon 
ciled,  after  all,  to  his  not  having  become  a  philoso 
pher.  He  would  never  have  been  so  famous  as  he 
is  now,  and  he  really  knows  so  much  more  than 
Maestro  De  Pretis  —  in  other  ways  than  music  — 
that  he  is  very  presentable  indeed.  What  is  blood, 
nowadays  ?  What  difference  does  it  make  to  so 
ciety  whether  Nino  Cardegna,  the  tenor,  was  the 
son  of  a  vine-dresser  ?  Or  what  does  the  University 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  15 

care  for  the  fact  that  I,  Cornelio  Grandi,  am  the 
last  of  a  race  as  old  as  the  Colomias,  and  quite  as 
honorable  ?  What  does  Mariuccia  care  ?  What 
does  anybody  care  ?  Corpo  di  Bacco !  if  we  begin 
talking1  of  race  we  shall  waste  as  much  time  as 

O 

would  make  us  all  great  celebrities  !  I  am  not  a 
celebrity  —  I  never  shall  be  now,  for  a  man  must 
begin  at  that  trade  young.  It  is  a  profession  —  be 
ing  celebrated  —  and  it  has  its  signal  advantages. 
Nino  will  tell  you  so,  and  he  has  tried  it.  But  one 
must  begin  young,  very  young!  I  cannot  begin 
again. 

And  then,  as  you  all  know,  I  never  began  at  all. 
I  took  up  life  in  the  middle,  and  am  trying  hard  to 
twist  a  rope  of  which  I  never  held  the  other  end. 
I  feel  sometimes  as  though  it  must  be  the  life  of 
another  that  I  have  taken,  leaving  my  own  unfin 
ished,  for  I  was  never  meant  to  be  a  professor. 
That  is  the  way  of  it ;  and  if  I  am  sad  and  inclined 
to  melancholy  humors,  it  is  because  I  miss  my  old 
self,  and  he  seems  to  have  left  me  without  even  a 
kindly  word  at  parting.  I  was  fond  of  my  old  self. 
But  I  did  not  respect  him  much.  And  my  present 
self  I  respect,  without  fondness.  Is  that  meta 
physics  ?  Who  knows  ?  It  is  vanity  in  either 
case,  and  the  vanity  of  self-respect  is  perhaps  a 
more  dangerous  thing  than  the  vanity  of  self-love, 
though  you  may  call  it  pride  if  you  like,  or  give  it 
any  other  high-sounding  title.  But  the  heart  of 
the  vain  man  is  lighter  than  the  heart  of  the  proud. 
^Probably  Nino  has  always  had  much  self-respect, 


16  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

but  I  doubt  if  it  has  made  him  very  happy  — 
until  lately.  True,  he  has  genius,  and  does  what 
he  must  by  nature  do  or  die,  whereas  I  have  not 
even  talent,  and  I  make  myself  do  for  a  living  what 
I  can  never  do  well.  What  does  it  serve,  to  make 
comparisons  ?  I  could  never  have  been  like  Nino, 
though  I  believe  half  my  pleasure  of  late  has  been 
in  fancying  how  I  should  feel  in  his  place,  and  liv 
ing  through  his  triumphs  by  my  imagination.  Nino 
began  at  the  very  beginning,  and  when  all  his  cap 
ital  was  one  shoe  and  a  ragged  hat,  and  certainly 
not  more  than  a  third  of  a  shirt,  he  said  he  would 
be  a  great  singer  ;  and  he  is,  though  he  is  scarcely 
of  age  yet.  I  wish  it  had  been  something  else  than 
a  singer,  but  since  he  is  the  first  already,  it  was 
worth  while.  He  would  have  been  great  in  any 
thing,  though,  for  he  has  such  a  square  jaw,  and 
he  looks  so  fierce  when  anything  needs  to  be  over 
come.  Our  forefathers  must  have*  looked  like  that, 
with  their  broad  eagle  noses  and  iron  mouths. 
They  began  at  the  beginning,  too,  and  they  went 
to  the  very  end.  I  wish  Nino  had  been  a  gen 
eral,  or  a  statesman,  or  a  cardinal,  or  all  three,  like 
Richelieu. 

But  you  want  to  hear  of  Nino,  and  you  can  pass 
on  your  ways,  all  of  you,  without  hearing  my  reflec 
tions  and  small-talk  about  goodness,  and  success, 
and  the  like.  Moreover,  since  I  respect  myself 
now,  I  must  not  find  so  much  fault  with  my  own 
doings,  or  you  will  say  that  I  am  in  my  dotage. 
And,  truly,  Nino  Cardegna  is  a  better  man,  for  all 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  17 

his  peasant  blood,  than  I  ever  was ;  a  better  lover, 
and  perhaps  a  better  hater.  There  is  his  guitar, 
that  he  always  leaves  here,  and  it  reminds  me  of 
him  and  his  ways.  Fourteen  years  he  lived  here 
with  me,  from  child  to  boy  and  from  boy  to  man, 
and  now  he  is  gone,  never  to  live  here  any  more. 
The  end  of  it  will  be  that  I  shall  go  and  live  with 
him,  and  Mariuccia  will  take  her  cat  and  her  knit 
ting,  and  her  Lives  of  the  Saints  back  to  Serveti, 
to  end  her  life  in  peace,  where  there  are  no  profes 
sors  and  no  singers.  For  Mariuccia  is  older  than 
I  am,  and  she  will  die  before  me.  At  all  events, 
she  will  take  her  tongue  with  her,  and  ruin  herself 
at  her  convenience  without  ruining  me.  I  wonder 
what  life  would  be,  without  Mariuccia  ?  Would 
anybody  darn  my  stockings,  or  save  the  peel  of  the 
mandarins  to  make  cordial  ?  I  certainly  would  not 
have  the  mandarins,  if  she  were  gone  —  it  is  a  lux 
ury.  No,  I  would  not  have  them.  But  then,  there 
would  be  no  cordial,  and  I  should  have  to  buy  new 
stockings  every  year  or  two.  No,  the  mandarins 
cost  less  than  the  stockings — and — well,  I  sup 
pose  I  am  fond  of  Mariuccia. 
2 


II. 

IT  was  really  not  so  long  ago  —  only  one  year. 
The  scirocco  was  blowing  up  and  down  the  streets, 
and  about  the  corners,  with  its  sickening  blast,  mak 
ing  us  all  feel  like  dead  people,  and  hiding  away  the 
sun  from  us.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  do  anything 
when  it  blows  scirocco,  at  least  for  us  who  are  born 
here.  But  I  had  been  persuaded  to  go  with  Nino 
to  the  house  of  Sor  Ercole  to  hear  my  boy  sing  the 
opera  he  had  last  studied,  and  so  I  put  my  cloak 
over  my  shoulders,  and  wrapped  its  folds  over  my 
breast,  and  covered  my  mouth,  and  we  went  out. 
For  it  was  a  cold  scirocco,  bringing  showers  of 
tepid  rain  from  the  south,  and  the  drops  seemed  to 
chill  themselves  as  they  fell.  One  moment  you  are 
in  danger  of  being  too  cold,  and  the  next  minute 
the  perspiration  stands  on  your  forehead,  and  you 
are  oppressed  with  a  moist  heat.  Like  the  prophet, 
when  it  blows  a  real  scirocco  you  feel  as  if  you  were 
poured  out  like  water,  and  all  your  bones  were  out 
of  joint.  Foreigners  do  not  feel  it  until  they  have 
lived  with  us  a  few  years,  but  Romans  are  like  dead 
men  when  the  wind  is  in  that  quarter. 

I  went  to  the  maestro's  house  and  sat  for  two 
hours  listening  to  the  singing.  Nino  sang  very 
creditably,  I  thought,  but  I  allow  that  I  was  not  as 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  19 

attentive  as  I  might  have  been,  for  I  was  chilled 
and  uncomfortable.  Nevertheless,  I  tried  to  be  very 
appreciative,  and  I  complimented  the  boy  on  the 
great  progress  he  had  made.  When  I  thought  of  it, 
it  struck  me  that  I  had  never  heard  anybody  sing 
like  that  before,  but  still  there  was  something  lack 
ing  ;  I  thought  it  sounded  a  little  unreal,  and  I  said 
to  myself  that  he  would  get  admiration,  but  never 
any  sympathy.  So  clear,  so  true,  so  rich  ,it  was, 
but  wanting  a  ring  to  it,  the  little  thrill  that  goes 
to  the  heart.  He  sings  very  differently  now. 

Maestro  Ercole  de  Pretis  lives  in  the  Via  Paola, 
close  to  the  Ponte  Sant'  Angelo,  in  a  most  decent 
little  house  —  that  is,  of  course,  on  a  floor  of  a 
house,  as  we  all  do.  But  De  Pretis  is  well  to  do, 
and  he  has  a  marble  door-plate,  engraved  in  black 
with  his  name,  and  two  sitting-rooms.  They  are 
not  very  large  rooms,  it  is  true,  but  in  one  of  them 
he  gives  his  lessons,  and  the  grand  piano  fills  it  up 
entirely,  so  that  you  can  only  sit  on  the  little  black 
horsehair  sofa  at  the  end,  and  it  is  very  hard  to 
get  past  the  piano  on  either  side.  Ercole  is  as 
broad  as  he  is  long,  and  takes  snuff  when  he  is  not 
smoking.  But  it  never  hurts  his  voice. 

It  was  Sunday,  I  remember,  for  he  had  to  sing 
in  St.  Peter's  in  the  afternoon ;  and  it  was  so  near, 
we  walked  over  with  him.  Nino  had  never  lost  his 
love  for  church  music,  though  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  it  was  a  much  finer  thing  to  be  a  primo 
tenore  assoluto  at  the  Apollo  Theatre  than  to  sing 
in  the  Pope's  choir  for  thirty  scudi  a  month.  We 


20  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

walked  along  over  the  bridge,  and  through  the 
Borgo  Nuovo,  and  across  the  Piazza  Rusticucci,  and 
then  we  skirted  the  colonnade  oil  the  left,  and  en 
tered  the  church  by  the  sacristy,  leaving  De  Pretis 
there  to  put  on  his  purple  cassock  and  his  white 
cotta.  Then  we  went  into  the  Capella  del  Coro  to 
wait  for  the  vespers. 

All  sorts  of  people  go  to  St.  Peter's  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  but  they  are  mostly  foreigners,  and  bring 
strange  little  folding  chairs,  and  arrange  themselves 
to  listen  to  the  music  as  though  it  were  a  concert. 
Now  and  then  one  of  the  young  gentlemen-in-wait- 
ing  from  the  Vatican  strolls  in  and  says  his  prayers, 
and  there  is  an  old  woman,  very  ragged  and  mis 
erable,  who  has  haunted  the  chapel  of  the  choir  for 
many  years,  and  sits  with  perfect  unconcern,  tell 
ing  her  beads  at  the  foot  of  the  great  reading-desk 
that  stands  out  in  the  middle  and  is  never  used. 
Great  ladies  crowd  in  through  the  gate  when  Rai- 
mondi's  hymn  is  to  be  sung,  and  disreputable  ar 
tists  make  sketches  surreptitiously  during  the  ben 
ediction  without  the  slightest  pretense  at  any  de 
votion  that  I  can  see.  The  lights  shine  out  more 
brightly  as  the  day  wanes,  and  the  incense  curls  up 
as  the  little  boys  swing  the  censers,  and  the  priests 
and  canons  chant,  and  the  choir  answers  from  the 
organ  loft ;  and  the  crowd  looks  on,  some  saying 
their  prayers,  some  pretending  to,  and  some  look 
ing  about  for  the  friend  or  lover  they  have  come  to 
meet. 

That   evening  when  we  went  over   together,  I 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  21 

found  myself  pushed  against  a  tall  man  with  an  im 
mense  gray  mustache  standing  out  across  his  face 
like  the  horns  of  a  beetle.  He  looked  down  on 
me  from  time  to  time,  and  when  I  apologized  for 
crowding  him  his  face  flushed  a  little,  and  he  tried 
to  bow  as  well  as  he  could  in  the  press,  and  said 
something  with  a  German  accent  which  seemed  to 
be  courteous.  But  I  was  separated  from  Nino  by 
him.  Maestro  Ercole  sang,  and  all  the  others,  turn 
and  turn  about,  and  so  at  last  it  came  to  the  ben 
ediction.  The  tall  old  foreigner  stood  erect  and 
unbending,  but  most  of  the  people  around  him, 
kneeled.  As  the  crowd  sank  down,  I  saw  that  on 
the  other  side  of  him  sat  a  lady  on  a  small  folding 
stool,  her  feet  crossed  one  over  the  other,  and  her 
hands  folded  on  her  knees.  She  was  dressed  en 
tirely  in  black,  and  her  fair  face  stood  out  wonder 
fully  clear  and  bright  against  the  darkness.  Truly 
she  looked  more  like  an  angel  than  a  woman, 
though  perhaps  you  will  think  she  is  not  so  beau 
tiful  after  all,  for  she  is  so  unlike  our  Roman  la 
dies.  She  has  a  delicate  nose,  full  of  sentiment, 
and  pointed  a  little  downward  for  pride  ;  she  has 
deep  blue  eyes,  wide  apart  and  dreamy,  and  a 
little  shaded  by  brows  that  are  quite  level  and 
even,  with  a  straight  penciling  over  them,  that 
looks  really  as  if  it  were  painted.  Her  lips  are 
very  red  and  gentle,  and  her  face  is  very  white,  so 
that  the  little  ringlet  that  has  escaped  control  looks 
like  a  gold  tracery  on  a  white  marble  ground. 
And  there  she  sat,  with  the  last  light  from  the 


22  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

tall  windows  and  the  first  from  the  great  wax  can 
dles  shining  on  her,  while  all  around  seemed  dark 
by  contrast.  She  Booked  like  an  angel ;  and  quite 
as  cold,  perhaps  most  of  you  would  say.  Diamonds 
are  cold  things,  too,  but  they  shine  in  the  dark; 
whereas  a  bit  of  glass  just  lets  the  light  through 
it,  even  if  it  is  colored  red  and  green  and  put  in  a 
church  window,  and  looks  ever  so  much  warmer 
than  the  diamond. 

But  though  I  saw  her  beauty  and  the  light  of 
her  face,  all  in  a  moment,  as  though  it  had  been  a 
dream,  I  saw  Nino  too  ;  for  I  had  missed  him,  and 
had  supposed  he  had  gone  to  the  organ  loft  with 
De  Pretis.  But  now,  as  the  people  kneeled  to  the 
benediction,  imagine  a  little  what  he  did  !  he  just 
dropped  on  his  knees  with  his  face  to  the  white 
lady,  and  his  back  to  the  procession ;  it  was  really 
disgraceful,  and  if  it  had  been  lighter  I  am  sure 
every  one  would  have  noticed  it.  At  all  events, 
there  he  knelt,  not  three  feet  from  the  lady,  looking 
at  her  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  But  I  do  not 
believe  she  saw  him,  for  she  never  looked  his  way. 
Afterwards  everybody  got  up  again,  and  we  hurried 
to  get  out  of  the  chapel ;  but  I  noticed  that  the  tall 
old  foreigner  gave  his  arm  to  the  beautiful  lady, 
and  when  they  had  pushed  their  way  through  the 
gate  that  leads  into  the  body  of  the  church,  they 
did  not  go  away,  but  stood  aside  for  the  crowd  to 
pass.  Nino  said  he  would  wait  for  De  Pretis,  and 
immediately  turned  his  whole  attention  to  the  for 
eign  girl,  hiding  himself  in  the  shadow  and  never 
taking  his  eyes  from  her. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  23 

I  never  saw  Nino  look  at  a  woman  before  as 
though  she  interested  him  in  the  least,  or  I  would 
not  have  been  surprised  now  to  see  him  lost  in  ad 
miration  of  the  fair  girl.  I  was  close  to  him  and 
could  see  his  face,  and  it  had  a  new  expression  on 
it  that  I  did  not  know.  The  people  were  almost 
gone,  and  the  lights  were  being  extinguished  when 
De  Pretis  came  round  the  corner,  looking  for  us. 
But  I  was  astonished  to  see  him  bow  low  to  the 
foreigner  and  the  young  lady,  and  then  stop  and 
enter  into  conversation  with  them.  They  spoke 
quite  audibly,  and  it  was  about  a  lesson  that  the 
young  lady  had  missed.  She  spoke  like  a  Roman, 
but  the  old  gentleman  made  himself  understood  in 
a  series  of  stiff  phrases,  which  he  fired  out  of  his 
mouth  like  discharges  of  musketry. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  whispered  Nino  to  me,  breath 
less  with  excitement,  and  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.  "  Who  are  they,  and  how  does  the  maestro 
know  them  ?  " 

"  Eh,  caro  mio,  what  am  I  to  know  ? "  I  an 
swered,  indifferently.  "  They  are  some  foreigners^ 
some  pupil  of  De  Pretis,  and  her  father.  Plow 
should  I  know  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  Roman,"  said  Nino  between  his  teeth. 
"  I  have  heard  foreigners  talk.  The  old  man  is  a 
foreigner,  but  she  —  she  is  Roman,"  he  repeated 
with  certainty. 

"  Eh,"  said  I,  "  for  my  part  she  may  be  Chinese. 
The  stars  will  not  fall  on  that  account."  You  see, 
I  thought  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  I  wanted  to 


24  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

exasperate  him  by  my  indifference  so  that  he  should 
tell  me ;  but  he  would  not,  and  indeed  I  found 
out  afterwards  that  he  had  really  never  seen  her 
before. 

Presently  the  lady  and  gentleman  went  away, 
and  we  called  De  Pretis,  for  he  could  not  see  us 
in  the  gloom.  Nino  became  very  confidential,  and 
linked  an  arm  in  his  as  we  went  away. 

"  "Who  are  they,  caro  maestro,  these  enchanting 
people  ?  "  inquired  the  boy  when  they  had  gone  a 
few  steps,  and  I  was  walking  by  Nino's  side,  and 
we  were  all  three  nearing  the  door. 

"  Foreigners,  —  my  foreigners,"  returned  the 
singer,  proudly,  as  he  took  a  colossal  pinch  of 
snuff.  He  seemed  to  say  that  he  in  his  profes 
sion  was  constantly  thrown  with  people  like  that, 
whereas  I  —  oh,  I,  of  course,  was  always  occupied 
with  students  and  poor  devils  who  had  no  voice, 
nothing  but  brains. 

"  But  she,"  objected  Nino,  —  "  she  is  Roman,  I 
am  sure  of  it." 

"  Eh,"  said  Ercole,  "  you  know  how  it  is.  These 
foreigners  marry  and  come  here  and  live,  and  their 
children  are  born  here ;  and  they  grow  up  and 
call  themselves  Romans,  as  proudly  as  you  please. 
But  they  are  not  really  Italians,  any  more  than  the 
Shah  of  Persia."  The  maestro  smiled  a  pitying 
smile.  He  is  a  Roman  of  Rome,  and  his  great 
nose  scorns  pretenders.  In  his  view  Piedmontese, 
Tuscans,  and  Neapolitans  are  as  much  foreigners  as 
the  Germans  or  the  English.  More  so,  for  he  likes 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  25 

the  Germans  and  tolerates  the  English,  but  he  can 
call  an  enemy  by  no  worse  name  than  "  Napole- 
tano  "  or  "  Piemontese." 

"  Then  they  live  here?"  cried  Nino  in  delight. 

"  Surely." 

"In  fine,  maestro  mio,  who  are  they?" 

"  What  a  diavolo  of  a  boy !  Dio  mio !  "  and 
Ercole  laughed  under  his  big  mustache,  which  is 
black  still.  But  he  is  bald,  all  the  same,  and  wears 
a  skull-cap. 

"Diavolo  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  will 
know,"  said  Nino  sullenly. 

"  Oh  bene  !  Now  do  not  disquiet  yourself,  Nino 
—  I  will  tell  you  all  about  them.  She  is  a  pupil 
of  mine,  and  I  go  to  their  house  in  the  Corso  and 
give  her  lessons." 

"  And  then?  "  asked  Nino  impatiently. 

"  Who  goes  slowly  goes  surely,"  said  the  maestro 
sententiously ;  and  he  stopped  to  light  a  cigar  as 
black  and  twisted  as  his  mustache.  Then  he  con- 
tinued,  standing  still  in  the  middle  of  the  piazza  to 
talk  at  his  ease,  for  it  had  stopped  raining  and  the 
air  was  moist  and  sultry,  "  They  are  Prussians,  you 
must  know.  The  old  man  is  a  colonel,  retired,  pen 
sioned,  everything  you  like,  wounded  at  Koniggratz 
by  the  Austrians.  His  wife  was  delicate,  and  he 
brought  her  to  live  here  long  before  he  left  the  ser 
vice,  and  the  signorina  was  born  here.  He  has  told 
me  about  it,  and  he  taught  me  to  pronounce  the 
name  Koniggratz,  so  —  Conigherazzo,"  said  the 
maestro  proudly,  "and  that  is  how  I  know." 


26  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Capperi !     What  a  mouthful !  "  said  I. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  Sor  Conte,  but  singing 
teaches  us  all  languages.  You  would  have  found  it 
of  great  use  in  your  studies."  I  pictured  to  myself 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  Schopenhauer,  with  a  piano 
accompaniment  and  some  one  beating  time. 

"  But  their  name,  their  name  I  want  to  know," 
objected  Nino,  as  he  stepped  aside  and  flattened 
himself  against  the  pillar  to  let  a  carriage  pass. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  the  old  officer  and  his 
daughter  were  in  that  very  cab,  and  Nino  could 
just  make  them  out  by  the  evening  twilight.  He 
took  off  his  hat,  of  course,  but  I  am  quite  sure 
they  did  not  see  him. 

"Well,  their  name  is  prettier  than  Conighe- 
razzo,"  said  Ercole.  "It  is  Lira — Erre  Gheraffe 
fonne  Lira."  (Herr  Graf  von  Lira,  I  suppose  he 
meant.  And  he  has  the  impudence  to  assert  that 
singing  has  taught  him  to  pronounce  German.) 
"  And  that  means,"  he  continued,  "  II  Conte  di 
Lira,  as  we  should  say." 

"  Ah  !  what  a  divine  appellation !  "  exclaimed 
Nino  enthusiastically,  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
to  meditate  upon  the  name  at  his  leisure. 

"  And  her  name  is  Edvigia,"  volunteered  the 
maestro.  That  is  the  Italian  for  Hedwig,  or  Had- 
wig,  you  know.  But  we  should  shorten  it  and  call 
her  Gigia,  just  as  though  she  were  Luisa.  Nino 
does  not  think  it  so  pretty.  Nino  was  silent. 
Perhaps  he  was  already  shy  of  repeating  the 
familiar  name  of  the  first  woman  he  had  ever 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  27 

loved.  Imagine  !  At  twenty  he  had  never  been 
in  love !  It  is  incredible  to  me,  —  and  one  of 
our  own  people,  too,  born  at  Serveti. 

Meanwhile  the  maestro's  cigar  had  gone  out, 
and  he  lit  it  with  a  blazing  sulphur  match,  before 
he  continued ;  and  we  all  walked  on  again.  I  re 
member  it  all  very  distinctly,  because  it  was  the 
beginning  of  Nino's  madness.  Especially  I  call  to 
mind  his  expression  of  indifference  when  Ercole 
began  to  descant  upon  the  worldly  possessions  of 
the  Lira  household.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if  Nino 
so  seriously  cast  his  eyes  on  the  Contessina  Edvigia 
he  might  at  least  have  looked  pleased  to  hear  she 
was  so  rich  :  or  he  might  have  looked  disappointed, 
if  he  thought  that  her  position  was  an  obstacle  in 
his  way.  But  he  did  not  care  about  it  at  all,  and 
walked  straight  on,  humming  a  little  tune  through 
his  nose  with  his  mouth  shut,  for  he  does  every 
thing  to  a  tune. 

"  They  are  certainly  gran'  signori,"  Ercole  said. 
"  They  live  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Palazzo  Car- 
mandola,  —  you  know,  in  the  Corso,  —  and  they 
have  a  carriage,  and  keep  two  men  in  livery,  just 
like  a  Roman  prince.  Besides,  the  count  once  sent 
me  a  bottle  of  wine  at  Christmas.  It  was  as  weak 
as  water,  and  tasted  like  the  solfatara  of  Tivoli, 
but  it  came  from  his  own  vineyard  in  Germany, 
and  was  at  least  fifty  years  old.  If  he  has  a  vine 
yard,  he  has  a  castello,  of  course.  And  if  he  has  a 
castello,  he  is  a  gran'  signore,  —  eh  ?  what  do  you 
think,  Sor  Conte  ?  You  know  about  such  things." 


VI- 


28  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  I  did  once,  maestro  mio.     It  is  very  likely." 

"  And  as  for  the  wine  being  sour,  it  was  because 
it  was  so  old.  I  am  sure  the  Germans  cannot  make 
wine  well.  They  are  not  used  to  drinking  it  good, 
or  they  would  not  drink  so  much  when  they  come 
here."  We  were  crossing  the  bridge,  and  nearing 
Ercole's  house.. 

"  Maestro,"  said  Nino,  suddenly.  He  had  not 
spoken  for  some  time,  and  he  had  finished  his  tune. 

"Well?" 

"  Is  not  to-morrow  our  day  for  studying  ?  " 

"  Diavolo !  I  gave  you  two  hours  to-day.  Have 
you  forgotten  ?  " 

"  Ah,  —  it  is  true.  But  give  me  a  lesson  to 
morrow,  like  a  good  maestro  as  you  are.  I  will 
sing  like  an  angel,  if  you  will  give  me  a  lesson  to 
morrow." 

"  Well,  if  you  like  to  come  at  seven  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  if  you  promise  to  sing  nothing  but  sol 
feggi  of  Bordogni  for  an  hour,  and  not  to  strain 
your  voice,  or  put  too  much  vinegar  in  your  salad 
at  supper,  I  will  think  about  it.  Does  that  please 
you  ?  Conte,  don't  let  him  eat  too  much  vinegar." 

"  I  will  do  all  that,  if  I  may  come,"  said  Nino, 
readily,  though  he  would  rather  not  sing  at  all,  at 
most  times,  than  sing  Bordogni,  De  Pretis  tells  me. 

"  Meglio  cosi,  —  so  much  the  better.  Good-night, 
Sor  Conte.  Good-night,  Nino."  And  so  he  turned 
down  the  Via  Paola,  and  Nino  and  I  went  our  way. 
I  stopped  to  buy  a  cigar  at  the  little  tobacco  shop 
just  opposite  the  Tordinona  Theatre.  They  used 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  29 

to  be  only  a  baiocco  apiece,  and  I  could  get  one  at 
a  time.  But  now  they  are  two  for  three  baiocchi ; 
and  so  I  have  to  get  two  always,  because  there 
are  no  half  baiocchi  any  more  —  nothing  but  cen 
times.  That  is  one  of  the  sources  of  my  extrava 
gance.  Mariuccia  says  I  am  miserly  ;  she  was  born 
poor,  and  never  had  to  learn  the  principles  of  econ 
omy. 

"  Nino  mio,"  I  said,  as  we  went  along,  "  you 
really  make  me  laugh." 

"  Which  is  to  say  "  —  He  was  humming  a  tune 
again,  and  was  cross  because  I  interrupted  him. 

"  You  are  in  love.  Do  not  deny  it.  You  are 
already  planning  how  you  can  make  the  acquain 
tance  of  the  foreign  contessa.  You  are  a  fool.  Go 
home,  and  get  Mariuccia  to  give  you  some  syrup 
of  tamarind  to  cool  your  blood." 

"  Well  ?  Now  tell  me,  were  you  never  in  love 
with  any  one  yourself  ?  "  he  asked,  by  way  of  an 
swer  ;  and  I  could  see  the  fierce  look  come  into  his 
eyes  in  the  dark,  as  he  said  it. 

"  Altro,  —  that  is  why  I  laugh  at  you.  When 
I  was  your  age  I  had  been  in  love  twenty  times. 
But  I  never  fell  in  love  at  first  sight  —  and  with 
a  doll ;  really  a  wax  doll,  you  know,  like  the  Ma 
donna  in  the  presepio  that  they  set  up  at  the  Ara 
Coali,  at  Epiphany." 

"  A  doll !  "  he  cried.  "  Who  is  a  doll,  if  you 
please  ?  "  We  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  street 
to  argue  it  out. 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  really  alive  ?  "  I  asked, 


30  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

laughing.  Nino  disdained  to  answer  me,  but  he 
looked  savagely  from  under  the  brim  of  his  hat. 
"  Look  here,"  I  continued,  "  women  like  that  are 
only  made  to  be  looked  at.  They  never  love,  for 
they  have  no  hearts.  It  is  lucky  if  they  have  souls, 
like  Christians." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  he  stoutly  ; 
"  she  is  an  angel." 

"  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an 
angel  being  married  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hear  of  it,  Sor  Cornelio,  and  before 
long.  I  swear  to  you,  here,  that  I  will  marry  the 
Contessina  di  Lira  —  if  that  is  her  name  —  before 
two  years  are  out.  Ah,  you  do  not  believe  me. 
Very  well.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  My  dear  son,"  said  I,  —  for  he  is  a  son  to  me, 
—  "  you  are  talking  nonsense.  How  can  anybody 
in  your  position  hope  to  marry  a  great  lady,  who 
is  an  heiress  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  it  is  all  stuff  and 
nonsense  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  true,"  cried  Nino,  setting  his 
square  jaw  like  a  bit  and  speaking  through  his 
teeth.  "  I  am  ugly,  you  say ;  I  am  dark,  and  I 
have  no  position,  or  wealth,  or  anything  of  the 
kind.  I  am  the  son  of  a  peasant  and  of  a  peasant's 
wife.  I  am  anything  you  please,  but  I  will  marry 
her  if  I  say  I  will.  Do  you  think  it  is  for  nothing 
that  you  have  taught  me  the  language  of  Dante, 
of  Petrarca,  of  Silvio  Pellico  ?  Do  you  think  it  is 
for  nothing  that  Heaven  has  given  me  my  voice? 
Do  not  the  angels  love  music,  and  cannot  I  make 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  31 

as  good  songs  as  they  ?  Or  do  you  think  that  be 
cause  I  am  bred  a  singer  my  hand  is  not  as  strong 
as  a  fine  gentleman's  —  contadino  as  I  am  ?  I  will 
—  I  will  and  I  will,  Basta  !  " 

I  never  saw  him  look  like  that  before.  He  had 
folded  his  arms,  and  he  nodded  his  head  a  little  at 
each  repetition  of  the  word,  looking  at  me  so  hard, 
as  we  stood  under  the  gas  lamp  in  the  street,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  turn  my  eyes  away.  He  stared 
me  out  of  countenance  —  he,  a  peasant  boy  !  Then 
we  walked  on. 

"  And  as  for  her  being  a  wax  doll,  as  you  call 
her,"  he  continued,  after  a  little  time,  "  that  is  non 
sense,  if  you  want  the  word  to  be  used.  Truly,  a 
doll !  And  the  next  minute  you  compare  her  to 
the  Madonna !  I  am  sure  she  has  a  heart  as  big  as 
this,"  and  he  stretched  out  his  hands  into  the  air. 
"  I  can  see  it  in  her  eyes.  Ah,  what  eyes  !  " 

I  saw  it  was  no  use  arguing  on  that  tack,  and  I 
felt  quite  sure  that  he  would  forget  all  about  it, 
though  he  looked  so  determined,  and  talked  so 
grandly  about  his  will. 

"  Nino,"  I  said,  "  I  am  older  than  you."  I  said 
this  to  impress  him,  of  course,  for  I  am  not  really 
so  very  old. 

"  Diamini !  "  he  cried  impertinently,  "  I  believe 
it!" 

"  Well,  well,  do  not  be  impatient.  I  have  seen 
something  in  my  time,  and  I  tell  you  those  foreign 
women  are  not  like  ours,  a  whit.  I  fell  in  love, 
once,  with  a  northern  fairy,  —  she  was  not  German, 


32  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

but  she  came  from  Lombardy,  you  see,  —  and  that 
is  the  reason  why  I  lost  Serveti  and  all  the  rest." 

"  But  I  have  no  Serveti  to  lose,"  objected  Nino. 

"  You  have  a  career  as  a  musician  to  lose.  It  is 
not  much  of  a  career,  to  be  stamping  about  with 
a  lot  of  figuranti  and  scene-shifters,  and  scream 
ing  yourself  hoarse  every  night."  I  was  angry,  be 
cause  he  laughed  at  my  age.  "  But  it  is  a  career, 
after  all,  that  you  have  chosen  for  yourself.  If  you 
get  mixed  up  in  an  intrigue  now,  you  may  ruin 
yourself.  I  hope  you  will." 

"Grazie!    And  then?" 

"  Eh,  it  might  not  be  such  a  bad  thing,  after 
all.  For  if  you  could  be  induced  to  give  up  the 
stage  "  — 

"I  —  /give  up  singing  ?  "  he  cried,  indignantly. 

"  Oh,  such  things  happen,  you  know.  If  you 
were  to  give  it  up,  as  I  was  saying,  you  might  then 
possibly  use  your  mind.  A  mind  is  a  much  better 
thing  than  a  throat,  after  all." 

"  Ebbene !  talk  as  much  as  you  please,  for,  of 
course,  you  have  the  right,  for  you  have  brought 
me  up,  and  you  have  certainly  opposed  my  singing 
enough  to  quiet  your  conscience.  But,  dear  pro 
fessor,  I  will  do  all  that  I  say,  and  if  you  will  give 
me  a  little  help  in  this  matter  you  will  not  repent 
it." 

"  Help  ?  Dio  mio  !  What  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
As  if  I  could  help  you,  or  would !  I  suppose  you 
want  money  to  make  yourself  a  dandy,  a  paino,  to 
go  and  stand  at  the  corner  of  the  Piazza  Colonna 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  33 

and  ogle  her  as  she  goes  by !    In  truth  !    You  have 
fine  projects." 

"  No,"  said  Nino,  quietly,  "  I  do  not  want  any 
money,  or  anything  else,  at  present,  thank  you. 
And  do  not  be  angry,  but  come  into  the  caffd  and 
drink  some  lemonade ;  and  I  will  invite  you  to  it, 
for  I  have  been  paid  for  my  last  copying,  that  I 
sent  in  yesterday."  He  put  his  arm  in  mine,  and 
we  went  in.  There  is  no  resisting  Nino,  when  he 
is  affectionate.  But  I  would  not  let  him  pay  for 
the  lemonade.  I  paid  for  it  myself.  What  extrav 
agance  I 


III. 

Now  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  many  things  in  this 
story  were  only  told  me  quite  lately ;  for  at  first  I 
would  not  help  Nino  at  all,  thinking  it  was  but  a 
foolish  fancy  of  his  boy's  heart  and  would  soon 
pass.  I  have  tried  to  gather  and  to  order  all  the 
different  incidents  into  one  harmonious  whole,  so 
that  you  can  follow  the  story ;  and  you  must  not 
wonder  that  I  can  describe  some  things  that  I  did 
not  see,  and  that  I  know  how  some  of  the  people  felt ; 
for  Nino  and  I  have  talked  over  the  whole  matter 
very  often,  and  the  baroness  came  here  and  told 
me  her  share,  though  I  wonder  how  she  could  talk 
so  plainly  of  what  must  have  given  her  so  much 
pain.  But  it  was  very  kind  of  her  to  come  ;  and 
she  sat  over  there  in  the  old  green  arm-chair,  by 
the  glass  case  that  has  the  artificial  flowers  under 
it,  and  the  sugar  lamb  that  the  padre  curato  gave 
Nino  when  he  made  his  first  communion  at  Easter. 
However,  it  is  not  time  to  speak  of  the  baroness 
yet,  but  I  cannot  forget  her. 

Nino  was  very  amusing  when  he  began  to  love 
the  young  countess,  and  the  very  first  morning  — 
the  day  after  we  had  been  to  St.  Peter's  —  he 
went  out  at  half  past  six,  though  it  was  only  just 
sunrise,  for  we  were  in  October.  I  knew  very  well 


-A   ROMAN  SINGER.  35 

that  he  was  goiflg  for  his  extra  lesson  with  De 
Pretis,  but  I  had  nothing  to  say  about  it,  and  I 
only  recommended  him  to  cover  himself  well,  for 
the  scirocco  had  passed  and  it  was  a  bright  morn 
ing,  with  a  clear  tramontana  wind  blowing  fresh 
from  the  north.  I  can  always  tell  when  it  is  a  tra 
montana  wind,  before  I  open  my  window,  for  Ma- 
riuccia  makes  such  a  clattering  with  the  coffee-pot 
in  the  kitchen,  and  the  goldfinch  in  the  sitting-room 
sings  very  loud  ;  which  he  never  does  if  it  is 
cloudy.  Nino,  then,  went  off  to  Maestro  Ercole's 
house  for  his  singing,  and  this  is  what  happened 
there. 

De  Pretis  knew  perfectly  well  that  Nino  had 
only  asked  for  the  extra  lesson  in  order  to  get  a 
chance  of  talking  about  the  Contessina  di  Lira,  and 
so,  to  tease  him,  as  soon  as  he  appeared  the  maes 
tro  made  a  great  bustle  about  singing  scales,  and 
insisted  upon  beginning  at  once.  Moreover,  he 
pretended  to  be  in  a  bad  humor  ;  and  that  is  always 
pretense  with  him. 

"  Ah,  my  little  tenor,"  he  began  ;  "  you  want  a 
lesson  at  seven  in  the  morning,  do  you  ?  That  is 
the  time  when  all  the  washerwomen  sing  at  the 
fountain !  Well,  you  shall  have  a  lesson,  and  by 
the  body  of  Bacchus  it  shall  be  a  real  lesson ! 
Now,  then  !  Andiamo  —  Do-o-o  !  "  and  he  roared 
out  a  great  note  that  made  the  room  shake,  and  a 
man  who  was  selling  cabbage  in  the  street  stopped 
his  hand-cart  and  mimicked  him  for  five  minutes. 

"  But  I  am  out  of  breath,  maestro,"  protested 
Nino,  who  wanted  to  talk. 


36  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

i 
"  Out   of   breath  ?      A  singer  is   never   out  of 

breath.  Absurd  !  What  would  you  do  if  you  got 
out  of  breath,  say,  in  the  last  act  of  Lucia,  so  — 
Bell'  alma  ado —  Then  your  breath  ends,  eh  ? 
Will  you  stay  with  the  '  adored  soul '  between  your 
teeth  ?  A  fine  singer  you  will  make  !  Andiamo  ! 
Do-o-o !  " 

Nino  saw  he  must  begin,  and  he  set  up  a  shout, 
much  against  his  will,  so  that  the  cabbage-vender 
chimed  in,  making  so  much  noise  that  the  old 
woman  who  lives  opposite  opened  her  window 
and  emptied  a  great  dustpan  full  of  potato  peel 
ings  and  refuse  leaves  of  lettuce  right  on  his 
head.  And  then  there  was  a  great  noise.  But  the 
maestro  paid  no  attention,  and  went  on  with  the 
scale,  hardly  giving  Nino  time  to  breathe.  Nino, 
who  stood  behind  De  Pretis  while  he  sang,  saw  the 
copy  of  Bordogni's  solfeggi  lying  on  a  chair,  and 
managed  to  slip  it  under  a  pile  of  music  near  by, 
singing  so  lustily  all  the  while  that  the  maestro 
never  looked  round. 

When  he  got  to  the  end  of  the  scale,  Ercole  be 
gan  hunting  for  the  music,  and  as  he  could  not  find 
it  Nino  asked  him  questions. 

"  Can  she  sing,  —  this  contessina  of  yours,  maes 
tro?"  De  Pretis  was  overturning  everything  in 
his  search. 

"  An  apoplexy  on  those  solfeggi  and  on  the  man 
who  made  them  !  "  he  cried.  "  Sing,  did  you  say  ? 
Yes,  a  great  deal  better  than  you  ever  will.  Why 
can  you  not  look  for  your  music,  instead  of  chat- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  37 

tering  ?  "     Nino  began  to  look  where  he  knew  it 
was  not. 

"  By  the  bye,  do  you  give  her  lessons  every 
day  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

__"  Every  day  ?    Am  I  crazy,  to  ruin  people's  voices 
like  that?" 

"  Caro  maestro,  what  is  the  matter  with  you, 
this  morning  ?  You  have  forgotten  to  say  your 
prayers ! " 

"  You  are  a  donkey,  Nino ;  here  he  is,  this  blessed 
Bordogni,  —  now,  come." 

"  Sor  Ercole  mio,"  said  Nino  in  despair,  "  I  must 
really  know  something  about  this  angel,  before  I 
sing  at  all."  Ercole  sat  down  on  the  piano  stool, 
and  puffed  up  his  cheeks,  and  heaved  a  tremendous 
sigh,  to  show  how  utterly  bored  he  was  by  his  pu 
pil.  Then  he  took  a  large  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
sighed  again. 

"  What  demon  have  you  got  into  your  head  ?  " 
he  asked,  at  length. 

"  What  angel,  you  mean,"  answered  Nino,  de 
lighted  at  having  forced  the  maestro  to  a  parley. 
"  I  am  in  love  with  her  —  crazy  about  her,"  he 
cried,  running  his  fingers  through  his  curly  hair, 
"  and  you  must  help  me  to  see  her.  You  can  easily 
take  me  to  her  house  to  sing  duets,  as  part  of  her 
lesson.  I  tell  you  I  have  not  slept  a  wink  all  night 
for  thinking  of  her,  and  unless  I  see  her  I  shall 
never  sleep  again  as  long  as  I  live.  Ah  !  "  he  cried, 
putting  his  hands  on  Ercole's  shoulders,  "  you  do 
not  know  what  it  is  to  be  in  love !  How  every- 


38  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

thing  one  touches  is  fire,  and  the  sky  is  like  lead, 
and  one  minute  you  are  cold  and  one  minute  you 
are  hot,  and  you  may  turn  and  turn  on  your  pil 
low  all  night,  and  never  sleep,  and  you  want  to 
curse  everybody  you  see,  or  to  embrace  them,  it 
makes  no  difference  —  anything  to  express  the  "  — 
,  "  Devil !  and  may  he  carry  you  off  !  "  inter 
rupted  Ercole,  laughing.  But  his  manner  changed. 
"  Poor  fellow,"  he  said  presently,  "  it  appears  to 
me  you  are  in  love." 

"  It  appears  to  you,  does  it  ?  '  Appears  '  —  a 
beautiful  word,  in  faith.  I  can  tell  you  it  appears 
to  me  so,  too.  Ah  !  it  '  appears  '  to  you  —  very 
good  indeed  !  "  and  Nino  waxed  wroth. 

"  I  will  give  you  some  advice,  Ninetto  mio.      Do 
not  fall  in  love  with  any  one.    It  always  ends  badly." 
"  You  come  late  with  your  counsel,  Sor  Ercole. 
In  truth,  a  very  good  piece  of  advice,  when  a  man 
is  fifty,  and  married,  and  wears  a  skull-cap.    When 
I  wear  a  skull-cap  and  take  snuff,  I  will  follow 
your  instructions."     He  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  grinding  his  teeth  and  clapping  his  hands  to 
gether.     Ercole  rose  and  stopped  him. 
"  Let  us  talk  seriously,"  he  said. 
"  With  all  my  heart ;  as  seriously  as  you  please." 
"  You  have  only  seen  this  signorina  once." 
"  Once  !  "  cried  Nino,  —  "  as  if  once  were  not "  — 
"  Diavolo  !  let  me  speak.     You  have  only  seen 
her  once.     She  is  noble,  an  heiress,  a  great  lady  — 
worse  than  all,  a  foreigner ;  as  beautiful  as  a  statue, 
if  you  please,  but  twice  as  cold.     She  has  a  father 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  39 

who  knows  the  proprieties,  a  piece  of  iron,  I  tell 
you,  who  would  kill  you  just  as  he  would  drink  a 
glass  of  wine,  with  the  greatest  indifference,  if  he 
suspected  you  lifted  your  eyes  to  his  daughter." 

"  I  do  not  believe  your  calumnies,"  said  Nino, 
still  hotly.  "  She  is  not  cold,  and  if  I  can  see  her 
she  will  listen  to  me.  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  We  will  speak  of  that  by  and  by.  You  — 
what  are  you  ?  Nothing  but  a  singer,  who  has  not 
even  appeared  before  the  public,  without  a  baiocco 
in  the  world,  or  anything  else  but  your  voice.  You 
are  not  even  handsome." 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  to  a  woman  of 
heart  ?  "  retorted  Nino  angrily.  "  Let  me  only 
speak  to  her  "  — 

"A  thousand  devils!  "  exclaimed  De  Pretis,  im 
patiently  ;  "  what  good  will  you  do  by  speaking  to 
her  ?  Are  you  Dante,  or  Petrarca,  or  a  preacher  — 
what  are  you  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  have  a  great 
lady's  hand  for  the  asking?  Do  you  flatter  your 
self  that  you  are  so  eloquent  that  nobody  can  with 
stand  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nino  boldly.  "  If  I  could  only  speak 
to  her  "  — 

"  Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  go  and  speak  to  her. 
Get  a  new  hat  and  a  pair  of  lavender  gloves,  and 
walk  about  the  Villa  Borghese  until  you  meet  her, 
and  then  throw  yourself  on  your  knees  and  kiss  her 
feet,  and  the  dust  from  her  shoes ;  and  say  you  are 
dying  for  her,  and  will  she  be  good  enough  to  walk 
as  far  as  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo  and  be  married  to 


40  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

you  !  That  is  all ;  you  see  it  is  nothing  you  ask  —  a 
mere  politeness  on  her  part  —  oh,  nothing,  nothing." 
And  De  Pretis  rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled,  and 
seeing  that  Nino  did  not  answer,  he  blew  his  nose 
with  his  great  blue  cotton  handkerchief. 

"  You  have  no  heart  at  all,  maestro,"  said  Nino 
at  last.  "  Let  us  sing." 

They  worked  hard  at  Bordogni  for  half  an  hour, 
and  Nino  did  not  open  his  mouth  except  to  produce 
the  notes.  But  as  his  blood  was  up  from  the  pre 
ceding  interview  he  took  great  pains,  and  Ercole, 
who  makes  him  sing  all  the  solfeggi  he  can  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  himself  wearied  of  the  ridiculous 
old-fashioned  runs  and  intervals. 

"  Bene,"  he  said  ;  "  let  us  sing  a  piece  now,  and 
then  you  will  have  done  enough."  He  put  an  opera 
on  the  piano,  and  Nino  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang, 
only  too  glad  to  give  his  heart  passage  to  his  lips. 
Ercole  screwed  up  his  eyes  with  a  queer  smile  he 
has  when  he  is  pleased. 

"  Capperi !  "  he  ejaculated,  when  Nino  had  done. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  has  happened,"  said  Er 
cole,  "  but  I  will  tell  you  that  you  had  better  always 
sing  like  that,  and  you  will  be  applauded.  Why 
have  you  never  sung  that  piece  in  that  way  before  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  un 
happy/' 

"  Very  well,  never  dare  to  be  happy  again,  if  you 
mean  to  succeed.  You  can  make  a  statue  shed  tears 
if  you  please."  Ercole  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  41 

turned  round  to  look  out  of  the  window.  Nino 
leaned  on  the  piano,  drumming  with  his  fingers  and 
looking  at  the  back  of  the  maestro's  head.  The 
first  rays  of  the  sun  just  fell  into  the  room  and 
gilded  the  red  brick  floor. 

"  Then  instead  of  buying  lavender  kid  gloves," 
said  Nino  at  last,  his  face  relaxing  a  little,  "  and  go 
ing  to  the  Villa  Borghese,  you  advise  me  to  borrow 
a  guitar  and  sing  to  my  statue  ?  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Che  Diana  !  I  did  not  say  that !  "  said  Ercole, 
still  facing  the  window  and  finishing  his  pinch  of 
snuff  with  a  certain  satisfaction.  "  But  if  you  want 
the  guitar,  take  it,  —  there  it  lies.  I  will  not  answer 
for  what  you  do  with  it."  His  voice  sounded  kind 
ly,  for  he  was  so  much  pleased.  Then  he  made  Nino 
sing  again,  a  little  love  song  of  Tosti,  who  writes 
for  the  heart  and  sings  so  much  better  without  a 
voice  than  all  your  stage  tenors  put  together.  And 
the  maestro  looked  long  at  Nino  when  he  had  done, 
but  he  did  not  say  anything.  Nino  put  on  his  hat, 
gloomily  enough,  and  prepared  to  go. 

"  I  will  take  the  guitar,  if  you  will  lend  it  to  me," 
he  said. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,  and  I  will  give  you  a  hand 
kerchief  to  wrap  it  up  with,"  said  De  Pretis,  ab 
sently,  but  he  did  not  get  up  from  his  seat.  He 
was  watching  Nino,  and  he  seemed  to  be  thinking. 
Just  as  the  boy  was  going  with  the  instrument 
under  his  arm,  he  called  him  back. 

"  Ebbene  ?  "  said  Nino,  with  his  hand  on  the  lock 
of  the  door. 


42  A    ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  I  will  make  you  a  song  to  sing  to  your  guitar," 
said  Ercole. 

"You?" 

"  Yes  —  but  without  music.  Look  here,  Nino  — 
sit  down.  What  a  hurry  you  are  in!  I  was  young 
myself,  once  upon  a  time." 

"  Once  upon  a  time  !  Fairy  stories  —  once  upon 
a  time  there  was  a  king,  and  so  on."  Nino  was  not 
to  be  easily  pacified. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is  a  fairy  tale,  but  it  is  in  the 
future.  I  have  an  idea." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  But  it  is  perhaps  the  first 
time.  I  understand." 

"  Listen.     Have  you  read  Dante  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  Vita  Nuova  by  heart,  and  some  of 
the  Commedia.  But  how  the  diavolo  does  Dante 
enter  into  this  question  ?  " 

"  And  Silvio  Pellico,  and  a  little  literature  ?  " 
continued  Ercole,  not  heeding  the  comment. 

"  Yes,  after  a  fashion.  And  you  ?  Do  you 
know  them  ?  " 

"  Che  c'entro  io  ?  "  cried  Ercole  impatiently ; 
"  what  do  I  want  to  know  such  things  for  ?  But  I 
have  heard  of  them." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  replied  Nino  ironically. 

"  Have  patience.  You  are  no  longer  an  artist. 
You  are  a  professor  of  literature." 

"I  —  a  professor  of  literature  ?  What  nonsensa 
are  you  talking?  " 

"You  are  a  great  stupid  donkey,  Nino.  Sup 
posing  I  obtain  for  you  an  engagement  to  read  lit- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  43 

erature  with  the  Contessina  di  Lira,  will  you  not 
be  a  professor  ?  If  you  prefer  singing "  —  But 
Nino  comprehended  in  a  flash  the  whole  scope  of  the 
proposal,  and  threw  his  arms  round  Ercole's  neck 
and  embraced  him. 

"  What  a  mind !  Oh,  maestro  mio,  I  will  die  for 
you!  Command  me,  and  I  will  do  anything  for 
you ;  I  will  run  errands  for  you,  black  your  boots, 
anything"  —  he  cried  in  the  ecstasy  of  delight  that 
overmastered  him. 

"  Piano,  piano,"  objected  the  maestro,  disengag 
ing  himself  from  his  pupil's  embrace.  "  It  is  not 
done  yet.  There  is  much,  much  to  think  of  first." 

Nino  retreated,  a  little  disconcerted  at  not  find 
ing  his  enthusiasm  returned,  but  radiant  still. 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  Ercole,  smiling.  "  If  you 
do  this  thing,  you  must  act  a  part.  You  must 
manage  to  conceal  your  occupation  entirely.  You 
must  look  as  solemn  as  an  undertaker  and  be  a  real 
professor.  They  will  ultimately  find  you  out,  and 
throw  you  out  of  the  window,  and  dismiss  me  for 
recommending  you.  But  that  is  nothing." 

"No,"  said  Nino,  "that  is  of  no  importance." 
And  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  looked 
delighted. 

"You  shall  know  all  about  it  this  evening,  or 
to-morrow  "  — 

"This  evening,  Sor  Ercole,  this  evening,  or  I 
shall  die.  Stay,  let  me  go  to  the  house  with  you, 
when  you  give  your  lesson,  and  wait  for  you  at  the 
door." 


44  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Pumpkin-head !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
you,"  said  De  Pretis. 

"  Ah,  I  will  be  as  quiet  as  you  please.  I  will  be 
like  a  lamb,  and  wait  until  this  evening." 

"  If  you  will  really  be  quiet,  I  will  do  what  you 
wish.  Come  to  me  this  evening,  about  the  Ave 
Maria  —  or  a  little  earlier.  Yes,  come  at  twenty- 
three  hours."  In  October  that  is  about  five  o'clock, 
by  French  time. 

"  And  I  may  take  the  guitar  ?  "  said  Nino,  as  he 
rose  to  go. 

"  With  all  my  heart.  But  do  not  spoil  every 
thing  by  singing  to  her,  and  betraying  yourself." 

So  Nino  thanked  the  maestro  enthusiastically 
and  went  away,  humming  a  tune,  as  he  now  and 
again  struck  the  strings  of  the  guitar  that  he  car 
ried  under  his  arm,  to  be  sure  it  was  there. 

Do  not  think  that  because  De  Pretis  suddenly 
changed  his  mind,  and  even  proposed  to  Nino  a 
plan  for  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  young 
countess,  he  is  a  man  to  veer  about  like  a  weather 
cock,  nor  yet  a  bad  man,  willing  to  help  a  boy  to 
do  mischief.  That  is  not  at  all  like  Ercole  de 
Pretis.  He  has  since  told  me  he  was  much  aston 
ished  at  the  way  Nino  sang  the  love  song  at  his  les 
son ;  and  he  was  instantly  convinced  that  in  order 
to  be  a  great  artist  Nino  must  be  in  love  always. 
Besides,  the  maestro  is  as  liberal  in  his  views  of 
life  as  he  is  conservative  in  his  ideas  about  govern 
ment.  Nino  is  everything  the  most  strait-laced 
father  could  wish  him  to  be,  and  as  he  was  then 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  45 

within  a  few  months  of  making  his  first  appearance 
on  the  stage,  De  Pretis,  who  understands  those 
things,  could  very  well  foresee  the  success  he  has 
had.  Now  De  Pretis  is  essentially  a  man  of  the 
people,  and  I  am  not ;  therefore  he  saw  no  objec 
tion  in  the  way  of  a  match  between  a  great  singer 
and  a  noble  damigella.  But  had  I  known  what 
was  going  on,  I  would  have  stopped  the  whole  affair 
at  that  point,  for  I  am  not  so  weak  as  Mariuccia 
seems  to  think.  I  do  not  mean  that  now  everything 
is  settled  I  would  wish  it  undone.  Heaven  forbid ! 
But  I  would  have  stopped  it  then,  for  it  is  a  most 
incongruous  thing,  a  peasant  boy  making  love  to  a 
countess. 

Nino,  however,  has  one  great  fault,  and  that  is 
his  reticence.  It  is  true,  he  never  does  anything 
he  would  not  like  me,  or  all  the  world,  to  know. 
But  I  would  like  to  know,  all  the  same.  It  is  a 
habit  I  have  fallen  into,  from  having  to  watch  that 
old  woman,  for  fear  she  should  be  too  extravagant. 
All  that  time  he  never  said  anything,  and  I  sup 
posed  he  had  forgotten  all  about  the  contessina,  for 
I  did  not  chance  to  see  De  Pretis ;  and  when  I  did, 
he  talked  of  nothing  but  Nino's  debut  and  the  ar 
rangements  that  were  to  be  made.  So  that  I  knew 
nothing  about  it,  though  I  was  pleased  to  see  him 
reading  so  much.  He  took  a  sudden  fancy  for  lit 
erature,  and  read  when  he  was  not  singing,  and 
even  made  me  borrow  Ambrosoli,  in  several  vol 
umes,  from  a  friend.  He  read  every  word  of  it, 
and  talked  very  intelligently  about  it,  too.  I  never 
thought  there  was  any  reason. 


46  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

But  De  Pretis  thinks  differently.  He  believes 
that  a  man  may  be  the  son  of  a  ciociaro  —  a  fellow 
who  ties  his  legs  up  in  rags  and  thongs,  and  lives 
on  goats'  milk  in  the  mountains  —  and  that  if  he 
has  brains  enough,  or  talent  enough,  he  may  marry 
any  woman  he  likes  without  ever  thinking  whether 
she  is  noble  or  not.  De  Pretis  must  be  old-fash 
ioned,  for  I  am  sure  I  do  not  think  in  that  way, 
and  I  know  a  hundred  times  as  much  as  he  —  a 
hundred  times. 

I  suppose  it  must  have  been  the  very  day  when 
Nino  had  been  to  De  Pretis  in  the  morning,  that 
he  had  instructions  to  go  to  the  house  of  Count  von 
Lira  on  the  morrow ;  for  I  remember  very  well 
that  Nino  acted  strangely  in  the  evening,  singing 
and  making  a  noise  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
burying  himself  in  a  book.  However  that  may  be, 
it  was  very  soon  afterwards  that  he  went  to  the 
Palazzo  Carmandola,  dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  he 
tells  me,  in  order  to  make  a  favorable  impression 
on  the  count.  The  latter  had  spoken  to  De  Pretis 
about  the  lessons  in  literature,  to  which  he  attached 
great  importance,  and  the  maestro  had  turned  the 
idea  to  account  for  his  pupil.  But  Nino  did  not  ex 
pect  to  see  the  young  contessa  on  this  first  day,  or 
at  least  he  did  not  hope  he  would  be  able  to  speak 
to  her.  And  so  it  turned  out. 

The  footman,  who  had  a  red  waistcoat  and  opened 
the  door  with  authority,  as  if  ready  to  close  it  again 
on  the  smallest  provocation,  did  not  frighten  Nino 
at  all,  though  he  eyed  him  suspiciously  enough, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  47 

and  after  ascertaining-  his  business  departed  to  an 
nounce  him  to  the  count.  Meanwhile  Nino,  who 
was  very  much  excited  at  the  idea  of  being  under 
the  same  roof  with  the  object  of  his  adoration,  sat 
himself  down  on  one  of  the  carved  chests  that  sur 
rounded  the  hall.  The  green  baize  door  at  the 
other  end  swung  noiselessly  on  its  hinges,  closing 
itself  behind  the  servant,  and  the  boy  was  left 
alone.  He  might  well  be  frightened,  if  not  at  the 
imposing  appearance  of  the  footman,  at  least  at  the 
task  he  had  undertaken.  But  a  boy  like  Nino  is 
afraid  of  nothing,  when  he  is  in  love,  and  he  sim 
ply  looked  about  him,  realizing  that  he  was  without 
doubt  in  the  house  of  a  gran'  signore,  and  from 
time  to  time  brushing  a  particle  of  dust  from  his 
clothes,  or  trying  to  smooth  his  curly  black  hair, 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  clipped  a  little  for  the 
occasion ;  a  very  needless  expense,  for  he  looks  bet 
ter  with  his  hair  long. 

Before  many  moments  the  servant  returned,  and 
with  some  condescension  said  that  the  count  awaited 
him.  Nino  would  rather  have  faced  the  mayor,  or 
the  king  himself,  than  Graf  von  Lira,  though  he 
was  not  at  all  frightened  —  he  was  only  very  much 
excited,  and  he  strove  to  calm  himself,  as  he  was 
ushered  through  the  apartments  to  the  small  sitting- 
room,  where  he  was  expected. 

Graf  von  Lira,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  is  a 
foreigner  of  rank,  who  had  been  a  Prussian  colonel, 
and  was  wounded  in  the  war  of  1866.  He  is  very 
tall,  very  thin,  and  very  gray,  with  wooden  features 


48  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

and  a  huge  mustache  that  stands  out  like  the  beaks 
on  the  colonna  rostrata.  His  eyes  are  small  and 
very  far  apart,  and  fix  themselves  with  terrible 
severity  when  he  speaks,  even  if  he  is  only  saying 
"  good  -  morning."  His  nails  are  very  long  and 
most  carefully  kept,  and  though  he  is  so  lame  that 
he  could  not  move  a  step  without  the  help  of  his 
stick,  he  is  still  an  upright  and  military  figure.  I 
remember  well  how  he  looked,  for  he  came  to  see 
me  under  peculiar  circumstances,  many  months  af 
ter  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  speaking ;  and  be 
sides,  I  had  stood  next  to  him  for  an  hour  in  the 
chapel  of  the  choir  in  St.  Peter's. 

He  speaks  Italian  intelligibly,  but  with  the 
strangest  German  constructions,  and  he  rolls  the 
letter  r  curiously  in  his  throat.  But  he  is  an  intel 
ligent  man  for  a  soldier,  though  he  thinks  talent  is 
a  matter  of  education,  and  education  a  matter  of 
drill.  He  is  the  most  ceremonious  man  I  ever  saw ; 
and  Nino  says  he  rose  from  his  chair  to  meet  him, 
and  would  not  sit  down  again  until  Nino  was  seated. 

"  The  signore  is  the  professor  of  Italian  litera 
ture  recommended  to  me  by  Signer  De  Pretis  ?  " 
inquired  the  colonel  in  iron  tones,  as  he  scrutinized 
Nino. 

"  Yes,  Signer  Conte,"  was  the  answer. 

"  You  are  a  singularly  young  man  to  be  a  profes 
sor."  Nino  trembled.  "  And  how  have  you  the 
education  obtained  in  order  the  obligations  and  not- 
to-be-avoided  responsibilities  of  this  worthy-of-all 
honor  career  to  meet  ?  " 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  49 

"  I  went  to  school  here,  Signer  Conte,  and  the 
Professor  Grandi,  in  whose  house  I  always  have 
lived,  has  taught  me  everything  else  I  know." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  inquired  the  count,  so 
suddenly  that  Nino  was  taken  off  his  guard.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  answer.  The  count  looked 
very  stern  and  pulled  his  mustaches.  "  You  have 
not  come  here,"  he  continued,  seeing  that  Nino 
made  no  answer,  "  without  knowing  something. 
Evident  it  is,  that,  although  a  man  young  be,  if  he 
nothing  knows,  he  cannot  a  professor  be." 

"  You  speak  justly,  Signer  Conte,"  Nino  an 
swered  at  last,  "  and  I  do  know  some  things.  I 
know  the  Commedia  of  Alighieri,  and  Petrarca, 
and  I  have  read  the  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  with 
Professor  Grandi,  and  I  can  repeat  all  of  the  Vita 
Nuova  by  heart,  and  some  of  the  "  — 

"  For  the  present  that  is  enough,"  said  the  count. 
"If  you  nothing  better  to  do  have,  will  you  so 
kind  be  as  to  begin  ?  " 

"  Begin  ?  "  —  said  Nino,  not  understanding. 

"  Yes,  signore ;  it  would  unsuitable  be  if  I  my 
daughter  to  the  hands  of  a  man  committed  unac 
quainted  with  the  matter  he  to  teach  her  proposes. 
I  desire  to  be  satisfied  that  you  all  these  things 
really  know." 

"  Do  I  understand,  Signer  Conte,  that  you  wish 
me  to  repeat  to  you  some  of  the  things  I  know  by 
heart?" 

"  You  have  me  understood,"  said  the  count  se 
verely.  "  I  have  all  the  books  bought,  of  which  you 


50  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

speak.  You  will  repeat,  and  I  will  in  the  book  fol 
low.  Then  shall  we  know  each  other  much  better. 

Nino  was  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  mode  of 
procedure,  and  wondered  how  far  his  memory  would 
serve  him  in  such  an  unexpected  examination. 

"  It  will  take  a  long  time  to  ascertain  in  this 
way  "  —  he  began. 

"  This,"  said  the  count  coldly,  as  he  opened  a  vol 
ume  of  Dante,  "  is  the  celestial  play  by  Signor  Ali- 
ghieri.  If  you  anything  knowx  you  will  it  repeat." 

Nino  resigned  himself,  and  began  repeating  the 
first  canto  of  the  Inferno.  When  he  had  finished 
it  he  paused. 

"  Forwards,"  said  the  count,  without  any  change 
of  manner. 

"  More  ?  "  inquired  Nino. 

"  March !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  in  military 
tone,  and  the  boy  went  on  with  the  second  canto. 

"  Apparently  know  you  the  beginning."  The 
count  opened  the  book  at  random  in  another  place. 
"  The  thirtieth  canto  of  Purgatory.  You  will  now 
it  repeat." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Nino,  "  that  is  where  Dante  meets 
Beatrice." 

"  My  hitherto  not-by-any-means-extensive,  but 
always  from  -  the  -  conscience  -  undertaken,  reading 
reaches  not  so  far.  You  will  it  repeat.  So  shall 
we  know."  Nino  passed  his  hand  inside  his  collar 
as  though  to  free  his  throat,  and  began  again,  los 
ing  all  consciousness  of  his  tormentor  in  his  own 
enjoyment  of  the  verse. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  51 

"  When  was  the  Signore  Alighieri  born  ?  "  in 
quired  Graf  von  Lira,  very  suddenly,  as  though  to 
catch  him. 

"  May,  1265,  in  Florence,"  answered  the  other 
as  quickly. 

"•  I  said  when,  not  where.  I  know  he  was  in 
Florence  born.  When  and  where  died  he  ?  "  The 
question  was  asked  fiercely. 

"  Fourteenth  of  September,  1321,  at  Ravenna." 

"  I  think  really  you  something  of  Signore  Ali~ 
ghieri  know,"  said  the  count,  and  shut  up  the  vol 
ume  of  the  poet,  and  the  dictionary  of  dates  he  had 
been  obliged  to  consult  to  verify  Nino's  answers. 
"We  will  proceed." 

Nino  is  fortunately  one  of  those  people  whose 
faculties  serve  them  best  at  their  utmost  need,  and 
during  the  three  hours  —  three  blessed  hours  — 
that  Graf  von  Lira  kept  him  under  his  eye,  asking 
questions  and  forcing  him  to  repeat  all  manner  of 
things,  he  acquitted  himself  fairly  well. 

"  I  have  now  myself  satisfied  that  you  something 
know,"  said  the  count,  in  his  snappish  military 
fashion,  and  he  shut  the  last  book,  and  never  from 
that  day  referred  in  any  manner  to  Nino's  extent 
of  knowledge,  taking  it  for  granted  that  he  had 
made  an  exhaustive  investigation.  "  And  now,"  he 
continued,  "  I  desire  you  to  engage  for  the  reading 
of  literature  with  my  daughter,  upon  the  usual 
terms."  Nino  was  so  much  pleased  that  he  almost 
lost  his  self-control,  but  a  moment  restored  his  re 
flection. 


52  .     A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  I  am  honored  "  —  he  began. 

^'  You  are  not  honored  at  all,"  interrupted  the 
count  coldly.  "  What  are  the  usual  terms?  " 

"  Three  or  four  francs  a  lesson  "  —  suggested 
Nino. 

"  Three  or  four  francs  are  not  the  usual  terms. 
I  have  inquiries  made.  Five  francs  are  the  usual 
terms.  Three  times  in  the  week,  at  eleven.  You 
will  on  the  morrow  begin.  Allow  me  to  offer  you 
some  cigars."  And  he  ended  the  interview. 


IV. 

IN  a  sunny  room  overlooking  the  great  courtyard 
of  the  Palazzo  Carmandola,  Nino  sat  down  to  give 
Hedwio1  von  Lira  her  first  lesson  in  Italian  litera- 

O 

ture.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  les 
son  would  be  like,  for  in  spite  of  the  tolerably  wide 
acquaintance  with  the  subject  which  he  owed  to  my 
care  and  my  efforts  to  make  a  scholar  of  him,  he 
knew  nothing  about  teaching.  Nevertheless,  as  his 
pupil  spoke  the  language  fluently,  though  with  the 
occasional  use  of  words  of  low  origin,  like  all  for 
eigners  who  have  grown  up  in  Rome  and  have 
learned  to  speak  from  their  servants,  he  anticipated 
little  difficulty.  He  felt  quite  sure  of  being  able  to 
interpret  the  hard  places,  and  he  had  learnt  from 
me  to  know  the  best  and  finest  passages  in  a  num 
ber  of  authors. 

But  imagine  the  feelings  of  a  boy  of  twenty,  per 
fectly  in  love,  without  having  the  smallest  right  to 
be  so,  suddenly  placed  by  the  side  of  the  object  of 
his  adoration,  and  told  to  teach  her  all  he  knows  — 
with  her  father  in  the  next  room  and  the  door  open 
between !  I  have  always  thought  it  was  a  proof  of 
Nino's  determined  character,  that  he  should  have 
got  over  this  first  lesson  without  accident. 

Hedwig  von  Lira,  the  contessina,  as  we  always 


54  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

call  her,  is  just  Nino's  age,  but  she  seemed  much 
younger,  as  the  children  of  the  North  always  do. 
I  have  told  you  what  she  was  like  to  look  at,  and 
you  will  not  wonder  that  I  called  her  a  statue. 
She  looked  as  cold  as  a  statue,  just  as  I  said,  and 
so  I  should  hardly  describe  her  as  beautiful.  But 
then  I  am  not  a  sculptor,  nor  do  I  know  anything 
about  those  arts,  though  I  can  tell  a  good  work 
when  I  see  it.  I  do  not  wish  to  appear  prejudiced, 
and  so  I  will  not  say  anything  more  about  it.  I 
like  life  in  living  things,  and  sculptors  may,  if  it 
please  them,  adore  straight  noses,  and  level  brows, 
and  mouths  that  no  one  could  possibly  eat  with. 
I  do  not  care  in  the  least,  and  if  you  say  that  I 
once  thought  differently  I  answer  that  I  do  not 
wish  to  change  your  opinion,  but  that  I  will  change 
my  own  as  often  as  I  please.  Moreover,  if  you  say 
that  the  contessina  did  not  act  like  a  statue  in  the 
sequel,  I  wall  argue  that  if  you  put  marble  in  the 
fire  it  will  take  longer  to  heat  and  longer  to  cool 
than  clay ;  only  clay  is  made  to  be  put  into  the  fire, 
and  marble  is  not.  Is  not  that  a  cunning  answer  ? 
The  contessina  is  a  foreigner  in  every  way,  al 
though  she  was  born  under  our  sun.  They  have 
all  sorts  of  talents,  these  people,  but  so  little  inge 
nuity  in  using  them  that  they  never  accomplish 
anything.  It  seems  to  amuse  them  to  learn  to  do  a 
great  many  things,  although  they  must  know  from 
the  beginning  that  they  can  never  excel  in  any  one 
of  them.  I  dare  say  the  contessina  plays  on  the 
piano  very  creditably,  for  even  Nino  says  she  plays 
well ;  but  is  it  of  any  use  to  her  ? 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  55 

Nino  very  soon  found  out  that  she  meant  to  read 
literature  very  seriously,  and,  what  is  more,  she 
meant  to  read  it  in  her  own  way.  She  was  as  dif 
ferent  from  her  father  as  possible  in  everything 
else,  but  in  a  despotic  determination  to  do  exactly 
as  she  liked  she  resembled  him.  Nino  was  glad 
that  he  was  not  called  upon  to  use  his  own  judg 
ment,  and  there  he  sat,  content  to  look  at  her, 
twisting  his  hands  together  below  the  table  to  con 
centrate  his  attention,  and  master  himself ;  and  he 
read  just  what  she  told  him  to  read,  expounding  the 
words  and  phrases  she  could  not  understand.  I  dare 
say  that  with  his  hair  well  brushed,  and  his  best 
coat,  and  his  eyes  on  the  book,  he  looked  as  proper 
as  you  please.  But  if  the  high-born  young  lady 
had  returned  the  glances  he  could  not  refrain  from 
bending  upon  her  now  and  then,  she  would  have 
seen  a  lover,  if  she  could  see  at  all. 

She  did  not  see.  The  haughty  Prussian  damsel 
hardly  noticed  the  man,  for  she  was  absorbed  by 
the  professor.  Her  small  ears  were  all  attention, 
and  her  slender  fingers  made  notes  with  a  com 
mon  pencil,  so  that  Nino  wondered  at  the  contrast 
between  the  dazzling  white  hand  and  the  smooth, 
black,  varnished  instrument  of  writing.  He  took 
no  account  of  time  that  day,  and  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  the  midday  gun  and  the  angry  clash 
ing  of  the  bells.  The  coiitessina  looked  up  sud 
denly  and  met  his  eyes,  but  it  was  the  boy  that 
blushed. 

"Would   you   mind  finishing  the  canto?"   she 


56  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

asked.  "  There  are  only  ten  lines  more" —  Mind! 
Nino  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  Anzi  —  by  all  means,"  he  cried.  "  My  time  is 
yours,  signorina." 

When  they  had  done,  he  rose,  and  his  face  was 
sad  and  pale  again.  He  hated  to  go,  but  he  was 
only  a  teacher,  and  at  his  first  lesson,  too.  She 
also  rose,  and  waited  for  him  to  leave  the  room. 
He  could  not  hold  his  tongue. 

"Signorina"  —  he  stammered,  and  checked  him 
self.  She  looked  at  him,  to  listen,  but  his  heart 
smote  him  when  he  had  thus  arrested  her  attention. 
What  could  he  say,  as  he  stood  bowing?  It  was 
sufficiently  stupid,  what  he  said. 

"  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  returning  to-morrow 
—  the  day  after  to-morrow,  I  would  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  believe  that  is  the  arrange 
ment.  Good-morning,  Signer  Professore."  The 
title  of  professor  rang  strangely  in  his  ear.  Was 
there  the  slightest  tinge  of  irony  in  her  voice? 
Was  she  laughing  at  his  boyish  looks  ?  Ugh  !  the 
thought  tingled.  He  bowed  himself  out. 

That  was  the  first  lesson,  and  the  second  was 
like  it,  I  suppose,  and  a  great  many  others  about 
which  I  knew  nothing,  for  I  was  always  occupied 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  did  not  ask  where  he 
went.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  becoming  a 
great  dandy,  but  as  he  never  asked  me  for  any 
money  from  the  day  he  learned  to  copy  music  I 
never  put  any  questions.  He  certainly  had  a  new 
coat  before  Christmas,  and  gloves,  and  very  nice 


A   ROMAN  STNGER.  57 

boots,  that  made  me  smile  when  I  thought  of  the 
day  when  he  arrived,  with  only  one  shoe  —  and  it 
had  a  hole  in  it  as  big  as  half  his  foot.  But  now 
he  grew  to  be  so  careful  of  his  appearance  that 
Mariuccia  began  to  call  him  the  "  signorino."  De 
Pretis  said  he  was  making  great  progress,  and  so  I 
was  contented,  though  I  always  thought  it  was  a 
sacrifice  for  him  to  be  a  singer. 

Of  course,  as  he  went  three  times  a  week  to  the 
Palazzo  Carmandola,  he  began  to  be  used  to  the 
society  of  the  contessina.  I  never  understood  how 
he  succeeded  in  keeping  up  the  comedy  of  being  a 
professor.  A  real  Roman  would  have  discovered 
him  in  a  week.  But  foreigners  are  different.  If 
they  are  satisfied,  they  pay  their  money  and  ask  no 
questions.  Besides,  he  studied  all  the  time,  saying 
that  if  he  ever  lost  his  voice  he  would  turn  man 
of  letters  —  which  sounded  so  prudent  that  I  had 
nothing  to  say.  Once,  we  were  walking  in  the 
Corso,  and  the  contessina  with  her  father  passed  in 
the  carriage.  Nino  raised  his  hat,  but  they  did  not 
see  him,  for  there  is  always  a  crowd  in  the  Corso. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  cried  excitedly  as  they  went  by, 
"  is  it  not  true  that  she  is  beautiful? " 

"  A  piece  of  marble,  my  son,"  said  I,  suspecting 
nothing ;  and  I  turned  into  a  tobacconist's  to  buy  a 
cigar. 

One  day  —  Nino  says  it  was  in  November  —  the 
contessina  began  asking  him  questions  about  the 
Pantheon.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  lesson,  and 
he  wondered  at  her  stopping  to  talk.  But  you  may 


58  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

imagine  whether  he  was  glad  or  not  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  about  something  besides 
Dante. 

"Yes,  signorina,"  he  answered,  "Professor 
Grand!  says  it  was  built  for  public  baths ;  but,  of 
course,  we  all  think  it  was  a  temple." 

"  Were  you  ever  there  at  night  ? "  asked  she, 
indifferently,  and  the  sun  'through  the  window  so 
played  with  her  golden  hair  that  Nino  wondered 
how  she  could  ever  think  of  night  at  all. 

"  At  night,  signorina  ?  No  indeed !  What  should 
I  go  there  at  night  to  do,  in  the  dark !  I  was  never 
there  at  night." 

"  I  will  go  there  at  night,"  she  said  briefly. 

"  Ah  —  you  would  have  it  lit  up  with  torches,  as 
they  do  the  Coliseum  ?  " 

"  No.     Is  there  no  moon  in  Italy,  professore  ?  " 

"  The  moon  there  is.  But  there  is  such  a  little 
hole  in  the  top  of  the  Rotonda  "  —  that  is  our  Ro 
man  name  for  the  Pantheon  —  "  that  it  would  be 
very  dark." 

"  Precisely,"  said  she.  "  I  will  go  there  at  night, 
and  see  the  moon  shining  through  the  hole  in  the 
dome." 

"  Eh,"  cried  Nino  laughing,  "  you  will  see  the 
moon  better  outside  in  the  piazza.  Why  should 
you  go  inside,  where  you  can  see  so  little  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  go,"  replied  the  contessina.  "  The  Ital 
ians  have  no  sense  of  the  beautiful  —  the  mysteri 
ous."  Her  eyes  grew  dreamy  as  she  tried  to  call 
up  the  picture  she  had  never  seen. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  59 

"Perhaps,"  said  Nino,  humbly.  "But,"  he 
added,  suddenly  brightening  at  the  thought,  "  it  is 
very  easy,  if  you  would  like  to  go.  I  will  arrange 
it.  Will  you  allow  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  arrange  it.    Let  us  go  on  with  our  lesson." 

I  would  like  to  tell  you  all  about  it ;  how  Nino 
saw  the  sacristan  of  the  Pantheon  that  evening,  and 
ascertained  from  his  little  almanach  —  which  has 
all  kinds  of  wonderful  astrological  predictions,  as 
well  as  the  calendar  —  when  it  would  be  full  moon. 
And  perhaps  what  Nino  said  to  the  sacristan,  and 
what  the  sacristan  said  to  Nino,  might  be  amusing. 
I  am  very  fond  of  these  little  things,  and  fond  of 
talking  too.  For  since  it  is  talking  that  distin 
guishes  us  from  other  animals,  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  not  make  the  most  of  it.  But  you  who 
are  listening  to  me  have  seen  very  little  of  the  Con- 
tessina  Hedwig  as  yet,  and  unless  I  quickly  tell  you 
more  you  will  wonder  how  all  the  curious  things 
that  happened  to  her  could  possibly  have  grown  out 
of  the  attempt  of  a  little  singer  like  Nino  to  make 
her  acquaintance.  Well,  Nino  is  a  great  singer 
now,  of  course,  but  he  was  little  once ;  and  when  he 
palmed  himself  off  on  the  old  count  for  an  Italian 
master  without  my  knowledge,  nobody  had  heard 
of  him  at  all. 

Therefore  since  I  must  satisfy  your  curiosity  be 
fore  anything  else,  and  not  dwell  too  long  on  the 
details  —  the  dear,  commonplace  details  —  I  will 
simply  say  that  Nino  succeeded  without  difficulty 
in  arranging  with  the  sacristan  of  the  Pantheon  to 


60  A     ROMAN  SINGER. 

allow  a  party  of  foreigners  to  visit  the  building  at 
the  full  moon,  at  midnight.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
even  expended  a  franc  with  the  little  man,  who  is 
very  old  and  dirty,  and  keeps  chickens  in  the  vesti 
bule  —  but  no  details  ! 

I  On  the  appointed  night  Nino,  wrapped  in  that 
old  cloak  of  mine  (which  is  very  warm,  though  it 
is  threadbare),  accompanied  the  party  to  the  tem 
ple,  or  church,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it.  The 
party  were  simply  the  count  and  his  daughter*  an 
Austrian  gentleman  of  their  acquaintance,  and  the 
dear  baroness  —  that  sympathetic  woman  who  broke 
so  many  hearts  and  cared  not  at  all  for  the  chatter 
of  the  people.  Every  one  has  seen  her,  with  her 
slim,  graceful  ways,  and  her  face  that  was  like  a 
mulatto  peach  for  darkness  and  fineness,  and  her 
dark  eyes  and  tiger-lily  look.  They  say  she  lived 
entirely  on  sweetmeats  and  coffee,  and  it  is  no 
wonder  she  was  so  sweet  and  so  dark.  She  called 
me  "  count "  —  which  is  very  foolish  now,  but  if 
I  were  going  to  fall  in  love  I  would  have  loved 
her.  I  would  not  love  a  statue.  As  for  the  Aus 
trian  gentleman,  it  is  not  of  any  importance  to  de 
scribe  him. 

These  four  people  Nino  conducted  to  the  little 
entrance  at  the  back  of  the  Pantheon,  and  the  sac 
ristan  struck  a  light  to  show  them  the  way  to  the 
door  of  the  church.  Then  he  put  out  his  taper,  and 
let  them  do  as  they  pleased. 

Conceive  if  you  can  the  darkness  of  Egypt,  the 
darkness  that  can  be  felt,  impaled  and  stabbed 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  61 

through  its  whole  thickness  by  one  mighty  moon 
beam,  clear  and  clean  and  cold,  from  the  top  to 
the  bottom.  All  around,  in  the  circle  of  the  outer 
black,  lie  the  great  dead  in  their  tombs,  whispering 
to  each  other  of  deeds  that  shook  the  world  ;  whis 
pering  in  a  language  all  their  own  as  yet  —  the 
language  of  the  life  to  come  —  the  language  of  a 
stillness  so  dread  and  deep  that  the  very  silence 
clashes  against  it,  and  makes  dull,  muffled  beatings 
in  ears  that  strain  to  catch  the  dead  men's  talk :  the 
shadow  of  immortality  falling  through  the  shadow 
of  death,  and  bursting  back  upon  its  heavenward 
course  from  the  depth  of  the  abyss  ;  climbing  again 
upon  its  silver  self  to  the  sky  above,  leaving  be 
hind  the  horror  of  the  deep. 

So  in  that  lonely  place  at  midnight  falls  the 
moon  upon  the  floor,  and  through  the  mystic  shaft 
of  rays  ascend  and  descend  the  souls  of  the  dead. 
Hedwig  stood  out  alone  upon  the  white  circle  on 
the  pavement  beneath  the  dome,  and  looked  up  as 
though  she  could  see  the  angels  coming  and  going. 
And,  as  she  looked,  the  heavy  lace  veil  that  covered 
her  head  fell  back  softly,  as  though  a  spirit  wooed 
her  and  would  fain  look  on  something  fairer  than 
he,  and  purer.  The  whiteness  clung  to  her  face, 
and  each  separate  wave  of  hair  was  like  spun  sil 
ver.  And  she  looked  steadfastly  up.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  stood,  and  the  hushed  air  trembled  about 
her.  Then  the  silence  caught  the  tremor,  and  quiv 
ered,  and  a  thrill  of  sound  hovered  and  spread  its 
wings,  and  sailed  forth  from  the  night. 


62  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Spirto  gentil  del  sogni  miei  "  — 

Ah,  Signorina  Edvigia,  you  know  that  voice  now, 
but  you  did  not  know  it  then.  How  your  heart 
stopped,  and  beat,  and  stopped  again,  when  you 
first  heard  that  man  sing  out  his  whole  heartf  ul  — 
you  in  the  light  and  he  in  the  dark  !  And  his  soul 
shot  out  to  you  upon  the  sounds,  and  died  fitfully, 
as  the  magic  notes  dashed  their  soft  wings  against 
the  vaulted  roof  above  you,  and  took  new  life  again 
and  throbbed  heavenward  in  broad,  passionate 
waves,  till  your  breath  came  thick  and  your  blood 
ran  fiercely  —  ay,  even  your  cold  northern  blood  — 
in  very  triumph  that  a  voice  could  so  move  you.  A 
voice  in  the  dark.  For  a  full  minute  after  it  ceased 
you  stood  there,  and  the  others,  wherever  they 
might  be  in  the  shadow,  scarcely  breathed. 

That  was  how  Hedwig  first  heard  Nino  sing. 
When  at  last  she  recovered  herself  enough  to  ask 
aloud  the  name  of  the  singer,  Nino  had  moved 
quite  close  to  her. 

"  It  is  a  relation  of  mine,  signorina,  a  young  fel 
low  who  is  going  to  be  an  artist.  I  asked  him  as 
a  favor  to  come  here  and  sing  to  you  to-night.  I 
thought  it  might  please  you." 

"  A  relation  of  yours  !  "  exclaimed  the  contes- 
sina.  And  the  others  approached  so  that  they  all 
made  a  group  in  the  disc  of  moonlight.  "Just 
think,  my  dear  baroness,  this  wonderful  voice  is  a 
relation  of  Signor  Cardegna,  my  excellent  Italian 
master  !  "  There  was  a  little  murmur  of  admira 
tion  ;  then  the  old  count  spoke. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  63 

"Signore,"  said  he,  rolling  in  his  gutturals,  "it 
is  my  duty  to  very  much  thank  you.  You  will 
now,  if  you  please,  me  the  honor  do,  me  to  your 
all-the-talents-possible-possessing  relation  to  pre 
sent."  Nino  had  foreseen  the  contingency,  and 
disappeared  into  the  dark.  Presently  he  returned. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Signer  Conte,"  he  said.  "  The 
sacristan  tells  me  that  when  my  cousin  had  fin 
ished  he  hurried  away,  saying  he  was  afraid  of 
taking  some  ill  if  he  remained  here  where  it  is  so 
damp.  I  will  tell  him  how  much  you  appreciated 
him." 

"  Curious  is  it,"  remarked  the  count.  "  I  heard 
him  not  going  off." 

"  He  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  sacristy,  by  the 
high  altar,  Signer  Conte." 

"  In  that  case  is  it  different." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Nino.  "  The  signorina  was 
so  unkind  as  to  say,  lately,  that  we  Italians  have 
no  sense  of  the  beautiful,  the  mysterious  " 

"  I  take  it  back,"  said  Hedwig  gravely,  still 
standing  in  the  moonlight.  "Your  cousin  has  a 
very  great  power  over  the  beautiful." 

"  And  the  mysterious,"  added  the  baroness,  who 
had  not  spoken,  "  for  his  departure  without  show 
ing  himself  has  left  me  the  impression  of  a  sweet 
dream.  Give  me  your  arm,  Professore  Cardegna. 
I  will  not  stay  here  any  longer,  now  that  the  dream 
is  over."  Nino  sprang  to  her  side  politely,  though 
to  tell  the  truth  she  did  not  attract  him  at  first 
sight.  He  freed  one  arm  from  the  old  cloak,  and 


64  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

reflected  that  she  could  not  tell  in  the  dark  how 
very  shabby  it  was. 

"  You  give  lessons  to  the  Signorina  di  Lira  ?  " 
she  asked,  leading  him  quickly  away  from  the 
party. 

"Yes  —  in  Italian  literature,  signora." 

"  Ah  —  she  tells  me  great  things  of  you.  Could 
you  not  spare  me  an  hour  or  two  in  the  week,  pro- 
fessore  ?  " 

Here  was  a  new  complication.  Nino  had  cer 
tainly  not  contemplated  setting  up  for  an  Italian 
teacher  to  all  the  world,  when  he  undertook  to  give 
lessons  to  Hedwig. 

"  Signora  "  —  he  began,  in  a  protesting  voice. 

"  You  will  do  it  to  oblige  me,  I  am  sure,"  she 
said  eagerly,  and  her  slight  hand  just  pressed  upon 
his  arm  a  little.  Nino  had  found  time  to  reflect 
that  this  lady  was  intimate  with  Hedwig,  and  that 
he  might  possibly  gain  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the 
girl  he  loved  if  he  accepted  the  offer. 

"  Whenever  it  pleases  you,  signora,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Can  you  come  to  me  to-morrow  at  eleven  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  At  twelve,  if  you  please,  signora,  or  half  past. 
Eleven  is  the  contessina's  hour  to-morrow." 

"  At  half  past  twelve,  then,  to-morrow,"  said 
she,  and  she  gave  him  her  address,  as  they  went 
out  into  the  street.  "  Stop,"  she  added,  "  where 
do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Number  twenty-seven,  Santa  Catarina  dei  Fu- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  65 

nari,"  he  answered,  wondering  why  she  asked.  The 
rest  of  the  party  came  out,  and  Nino  bowed  to  the 
ground,  as  he  bid  the  contessina  good-night. 

He  was  glad  to  be  free  of  that  pressure  on  his 
arm,  and  he  was  glad  to  be  alone,  to  wander  through 
the  streets  under  the  moonlight  and  to  think  over 
what  he  had  done. 

"  There  is  no  risk  of  my  being  discovered,"  he 
said  to  himself,  confidently.  "  The  story  of  the 
near  relation  was  well  imagined,  and,  besides,  it  is 
true.  Am  I  not  my  own  nearest  relation  ?  I  cer 
tainly  have  no  others  that  I  know  of.  And  this 
baroness  —  what  can  she  want  of  me  ?  She  speaks 
Italian  like  a  Spanish  cow,  and  indeed  she  needs  a 
professor  badly  enough.  But  why  should  she  take 
a  fancy  for  me  as  a  teacher  ?  Ah !  those  eyes ! 
Not  the  baroness's.  Edvigia  —  Edvigia  di  Lira 
—  Edvigia  Ca—  Cardegna!  Why  not?"  He 
stopped  to  think,  and  looked  long  at  the  moon 
beams  playing  on  the  waters  of  the  fountain. 
"  Why  not  ?  But  the  baroness  —  may  the  diavolo 
fly  away  with  her  !  What  should  I  do  —  I  indeed ! 
with  a  pack  of  baronesses  ?  I  will  go  to  bed  and 
dream  —  not  of  a  baroness !  Macche",  never  a 
baroness  in  my  dreams,  with  eyes  like  a  snake  and 
who  cannot  speak  three  words  properly  in  the  only 
language  under  the  sun  worth  speaking !  Not  I  — 
I  will  dream  of  Edvigia  di  Lira  —  she  is  the  spirit 
of  my  dreams.  Spirto  gentil  "  —  and  away  he 
went,  humming  the  air  from  the  Favorita  in  the 
top  of  his  head,  as  is  his  wont. 
5 


66  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

The  next  day  the  contessina  could  talk  of  nothing 
during  her  lesson  but  the  unknown  singer  who  had 
made  the  night  so  beautiful  for  her,  and  Nino 
flushed  red  under  his  dark  skin  and  ran  his  fingers 
wildly  through  his  curly  hair,  with  pleasure.  But 
he  set  his  square  jaw,  that  means  so  much,  and  ex 
plained  to  his  pupil  how  hard  it  would  be  for  her  to 
hear  him  again.  For  his  friend,  he  said,  was  soon 
to  make  his  appearance  on  the  stage,  and  of  course 
he  could  not  be  heard  singing  before  that.  And  as 
the  young  lady  insisted,  Nino  grew  silent,  and  re 
marked  that  the  lesson  was  not  progressing.  '  There 
upon  Hedwig  blushed  —  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
seen  her  blush  —  and  did  not  approach  the  subject 
again. 

After  that  he  went  to  the  house  of  the  baroness, 
where  he  was  evidently  expected,  for  the  servant 
asked  his  name  and  immediately  ushered  him  into 
her  presence.  She  was  one  of  those  lithe,  dark 
women  of  good  race,  that  are  to  be  met  with  all 
over  the  world,  and  she  has  broken  many  hearts. 
But  she  was  not  like  a  snake  at  all,  as  Nino  had 
thought  at  first.  She  was  simply  a  very  fine  lady 
who  did  exactly  what  she  pleased ;  and  if  she  did 
not  always  act  rightly,  yet  I  think  she  rarely  acted 
unkindly.  After  all,  the  buon  Dio  has  not  made 
us  all  paragons  of  domestic  virtue.  Men  break 
their  hearts  for  so  very  little,  and,  unless  they  are 
ruined,  they  melt  the  pieces  at  the  next  flame  and 
join  them  together  again  like  bits  of  sealing  wax. 

The  baroness  sat  before  a  piano  in  a  boudoir. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  67 

where  there  was  not  very  much  light.  Every  part 
of  the  room  was  crowded  with  fans,  ferns,  palms, 
Oriental  carpets  and  cushions,  books,  porcelain, 
majolica,  and  pictures.  You  could  hardly  move 
without  touching  some  ornament,  and  the  heavy 
curtains  softened  the  sunshine,  and  a  small  open 
fire  of  wood  helped  the  warmth.  There  was  also 
an  odor  of  Russian  tobacco.  The  baroness  smiled 
and  turned  on  the  piano  seat. 

"  Ah,  professore  !  You  come  just  in  time,"  said 
she.  "  I  am  trying  to  sing  such  a  pretty  song  to 
myself,  and  I  cannot  pronounce  the  words.  Come 
and  teach  me."  Nino  contrasted  the  whole  air  of 
this  luxurious  retreat  with  the  prim,  soldierly  order 
that  reigned  in  the  count's  establishment. 

"  Indeed,  signora,  I  come  to  teach  you  whatever 
I  can.  Here  I  am.  I  cannot  sing,  but  I  will  stand 
beside  you  and  prompt  the  words." 

Nino  is  not  a  shy  boy  at  all,  and  he  assumed  the 
duties  required  of  him  immediately.  He  stood  by 
her  side,  and  she  just  nodded  and  began  to  sing  a 
little  song  that  stood  on  the  desk  of  the  piano. 
She  did  not  sing  out  of  tune,  but  she  made  wrong 
notes  and  pronounced  horribly. 

"Pronounce  the  words  for  me,"  she  repeated 
every  now  and  then. 

"  But  pronouncing  in  singing  is  different  from 
speaking,"  he  objected  at  last,  and  fairly  forgetting 
himself,  and  losing  patience,  he  began  softly  to  sing 
the  words  over.  Little  by  little,  as  the  song  pleased 
him,  he  lost  all  memory  of  where  he  was,  and  stood 


68  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

beside  her  singing  just  as  he  would  have  done  to 
De  Pretis,  from  the  sheet,  with  all  the  accuracy  and 
skill  that  were  in  him.  At  the  end,  he  suddenly 
remembered  how  foolish  he  was.  But,  after  all,  he 
had  not  sung  to  the  power  of  his  voice,  and  she 
might  not  recognize  in  him  the  singer  of  last  night. 
The  baroness  looked  up  with  a  light  laugh. 

"  I  have  found  you  out,"  she  cried,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  I  have  found  you  out." 

"  What,  signora  ?  " 

"You  are  the  tenorfof  the  Pantheon  —  that  is 
all.  I  knew  it.  Are  you  so  sorry  that  I  have 
found  you  out?"  she  asked,  for  Nino  turned  very 
white,  and  his  eyes  flashed  at  the  thought  of  the 
folly  he  had  committed. 


V. 

NINO  was  thoroughly  frightened,  for  he  knew 
that  discovery  portended  the  loss  of  everything 
most  dear  to  him.  No  more  lessons  with  Hedwig, 
no  more  parties  to  the  Pantheon  —  no  more  peace, 
no  more  anything.  He  wrung  his  fingers  together 
and  breathed  hard. 

"Ah,  signora!"  he  found  voice  to  exclaim,  "I 
am  sure  you  cannot  believe  it  possible  "  — 

"  Why  not,  Signer  Cardegna  ?  "  asked  the  baron 
ess,  looking  up  at  him  from  under  her  half-closed 
lids  with  a  mocking  glance.  "  Why  not  ?  Did 
you  not  tell  me  where  you  lived  ?  And  does  not  the 
whole  neighborhood  know  that  you  are  no  other 
than  Giovanni  Cardegna,  corrfmonly  called  Nino, 
who  is  to  make  his  debut  in  the  Carnival  season?  " 

"  Dio  mio !  "  ejaculated  Nino  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
realizing  that  he  was  entirely  found  out,  and  that 
nothing  could  save  him.  He  paced  the  room  in  an 
agony  of  despair,  and  his  square  face  was  as  white 
as  a  sheet.  The  baroness  sat  watching  him  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips,  amused  at  the  tempest  she  had 
created,  and  pretending  to  know  much  more  than 
she  did.  She  thought  it  not  impossible  that  Nino, 
who  was  certainly  poor,  might  be  supporting  him 
self  by  teaching  Italian  while  studying  for  the 


70  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

stage,  and  she  inwardly  admired  his  sense  and  two 
fold  talent,  if  that  were  really  the  case.  But  she 
was  willing -to  torment  him  a  little,  seeing  that  she 
had  the  power. 

"  Signer  Cardegna  "  —  she  called  him  in  her  soft 
voice.  He  turned  quickly,  and  stood  facing  her, 
his  arms  crossed. 

"You  look  like  Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  when  you 
stand  like  that,"  she  laughed.  He  made  no  answer, 
waiting  to  see  what  she  would  do  with  her  victory. 
"It  seems  that  you  are  sorry  I  have  discovered 
you,"  she  added  presently,  looking  down  at  her 
hands. 

"  Is  that  all !  "  he  said,  with  a  bitter  sneer  on 
his  pale  young  face. 

"  Then,  since  you  are  sorry,  you  must  have  a 
reason  for  concealment,"  she  went  on,  as  though  re 
flecting  on  the  situation.  It  was  deftly  done,  and 
Nino  took  heart. 

"  Signora,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  it  is 
natural  that  a  man  should  wish  to  live.  I  give  les 
sons  now,  until  I  have  appeared  in  public,  to  sup 
port  myself." 

"  Ah  —  I  begin  to  understand,"  said  the  baron 
ess.  In  reality,  she  began  to  doubt,  reflecting  that 
if  this  were  the  whole  truth  Nino  would  be  too 
proud  —  or  any  other  Italian  —  to  say  it  so  plainly. 
She  was  subtle,  the  baroness  ! 

"And  do  you  suppose,"  he  continued,  "that  if 
once  the  Conte  di  Lira  had  an  idea  that  I  was  to 
be  a  public  singer  he  would  employ  me  as  a  teacher 
for  his  daughter?" 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  71 

"  No,  but  others  might,"  she  objected. 

"  But  not  the  count," —  Nino  bit  his  lip,  fearing 
he  had  betrayed  himself. 

"  Nor  the  contessina,"  laughed  the  baroness,  com 
pleting  the  sentence.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  she 
suspected,  and  instead  of  keeping  cool  grew  angry. 

"  I  came  here,  Signora  Baronessa,  not  to  be  cross- 
examined,  but  to  teach  you  Italian.  Since  you  do 
not  desire  to  study,  I  will  say  good-morning."  He 
took  his  hat,  and  moved  proudly  to  the  door. 

"  Come  here,"  she  said,  not  raising  her  voice,  but 
still  commanding.  He  turned,  hesitated,  and  came 
back.  He  thought  her  voice  was  changed.  She 
.rose,  and  swept  her  silken  morning-gown  between 
the  chairs  and  tables,  till  she  reached  a  deep  divan 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  There  she  sat  down. 

"  Come  and  sit  beside  me,"  she  said  kindly,  and 
he  obeyed  in  silence. 

"  Do  you  know  what  would  have  happened,"  she 
continued,  when  he  was  seated,  "  if  you  had  left  me 
just  now?  I  would  have  gone  to  the  Graf  von 
Lira  and  told  him  that  you  were  not  a  fit  person  to 
teach  his  daughter ;  that  you  are  a  singer,  and  not 
a  professor  at  all ;  and  that  you  have  assumed  this 
disguise  for  the  sake  of  seeing  his  daughter."  But 
I  do  not  believe  that  she  would  have  done  it. 

"  That  would  have  been  a  betrayal,"  said  Nino 
fiercely,  looking  away  from  her.  She  laughed 
lightly^ 

"Is  it  not  natural,"  she  asked,  "that  I  should 
make  inquiries  about  my  Italian  teacher,  before  I 


72  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

begin  lessons  with  him?  And  if  I  find  he  is  not 
what  he  pretends  to  be,  should  I  not  warn  iny  in 
timate  friends  ?  "  She  spoke  so  reasonably  that  he 
was  fain  to  acknowledge  that  she  was  right. 

"It  is  just,"  he  said  sullenly.  "But  you  have 
been  very  quick  to  make  your  inquiries,  as  you  call 
them." 

"  The  time  was  short,  since  you  were  to  come  this 
morning." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  answered.  He  moved  uneasily. 
"  And  now,  signora,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell 
me  what  you  intend  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  since  you  are  more  reasonable.  You 
see  I  treat  you  altogether  as  an  artist,  and  not  at 
all  as  an  Italian  master.  A  great  artist  may  idle 
away  a  morning  in  a  woman's  boudoir;  a  simple 
teacher  of  languages  must  be  more  industrious." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  great  artist,"  said  Nino,  whose 
vanity  —  we  all  have  it  —  began  to  flutter  a  little. 

"You  will  be  one  before  long,  and  one  of  the 
greatest.  You  are  a  boy  yet,  my  little  tenor,"  said 
she,  looking  at  him  with  her  dark  eyes,  "and  I 
might  almost  be  your  mother.  How  old  are  you, 
Signer  Nino  ?  " 

"I  was  twenty  on  my  last  birthday,"  he  an 
swered,  blushing. 

"  You  see  !  I  am  thirty  —  at  least,"  she  added, 
with  a  short  laugh. 

"Well,  signora,  what  of  that?"  asked  Nino, 
half  amused.  "  I  wish  I  were  thirty  myself." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not,"  said  she.    "  Now  listen. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  73 

You  are  completely  in  my  power,  do  you  under 
stand  ?  Yes.  And  you  are  apparently  very  much 
in  love  with  my  young  friend,  the  Contessina  di 
Ly-a  "  —  Nino  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  white 
again,  but  with  rage  this  time. 

"  Signora,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  too  much !  It  is 
insufferable!  Good-morning,"  and  he  made  as 
though  he  would  go. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  baroness  ;  "  then  I  will  go 
to  the  Graf  and  explain  who  you  are.  Ah  —  you 
are  calm  again  in  a  moment  ?  Sit  down.  Now  I 
have  discovered  you,  and  I  have  a  right  to  you,  do 
you  see  ?  It  is  fortunate  for  you  that  I  like  you." 

"  You !  You  like  me  ?  In  truth,  you  act  as 
though  you  did !  Besides,  you  are  a  stranger,  Sig- 
iiora  Baronessa,  and  a  great  lady.  I  never  saw  you 
till  yesterday."  But  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Good,"  said  she.  "  Is  not  the  Signorina  Ed- 
vigia  a  great  lady,  and  was  there  never  a  day  when 
she  was  a  stranger  too?  " 

"I  do  not  understand  your  caprices,  signora. 
In  fine,  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  understand 
me,"  answered  the  dark-eyed  baroness.  "  Do  you 
think  I  would  hurt  you  —  or  rather  your  voice?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  would  not ;  and  as 
for  my  caprices,  as  you  call  them,  do  you  think  it 
is  a  caprice  to  love  music?  No,  of  course  not. 
And  who  loves  music  loves  musicians ;  at  least," 
she  added,  with  a  most  enchanting  smile,  "  enough 


74  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

to  wish  to  have  them  near  one.  That  is  all.  I 
want  you  to  come  here  often  and  sing-  to  me.  Will 
you  come  and  sing  to  me,  my  little  tenor  ?  " 

Nino  would  not  have  been  human  had  he  not  felt 
the  flattery  through  the  sting.  And  I  always  say 
that  singers  are  the  vainest  kind  of  people. 

"  It  is  very  like  singing  in  a  cage,"  he  said,  in 
protest.  Nevertheless,  he  knew  he  must  submit ; 
for,  however  narrow  his  experience  might  be,  this 
woman's  smile  and  winning  grace,  even  when  she 
said  the  hardest  things,  told  him  that  she  would 
have  her  own  way.  He  had  the  sense  to  under 
stand,  too,  that  whatever  her  plans  might  be,  their 
object  was  to  bring  him  near  to  herself,  a  reflection 
which  was  extremely  soothing  to  his  vanity. 

"  If  you  will  come  and  sing  to  me,  —  only  to  me, 
of  course,  for  I  would  not  ask  you  to  compromise 
your  debut,  —  but  if  you  will  come  and  sing  to  me, 
we  shall  be  very  good  friends.  Does  it  seem  to  you 
such  a  terrible  penance  to  sing  to  me  in  my  soli 
tude  ?  " 

"  It  is  never  a  penance  to  sing,"  said  Nino  sim 
ply.  A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  the  baroness's 
face. 

"  Provided,"  she  said,  "  it  entails  nothing.  Well, 
we  will  not  talk  about  the  terms." 

They  say  women  sometimes  fall  in  love  with  a 
voice  :  vox  et  prceterea  nihil,  as  the  poet  has  it.  I 
do  not  know  whether  that  is  what  happened  to  the 
baroness  at  first,  but  it  has  always  seemed  strange 
to  me  that  she  should  have  given  herself  so  much 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  75 

trouble  to  secure  Nino,  unless  she  had  a  very  strong 
fancy  for  him.  I,  for  iny  part,  think  that  when  a 
lady  of  her  condition  takes  such  a  sudden  caprice 
into  her  head,  she  thinks  it  necessary  to  maltreat 
the  poor  man  a  little  at  first,  just  to  satisfy  her  con 
science,  and  to  be  able  to  say  later  that  she  did  not 
encourage  him.  I  have  had  some  experience,  as 
everybody  is  aware,  and  so  I  may  speak  boldly. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  man  like  Nino,  when  he  is  in 
love,  is  absolutely  blind  to  other  women.  There 
is  only  one  idea  in  his  soul  that  has  any  life,  and 
every  one  outside  that  idea  is  only  so  much  land 
scape  ;  they  are  no  better  for  him  —  the  other  wo 
men  —  than  a  museum  of  wax  dolls. 

The  baroness,  as  you  have  seen,  had  Nino  in  her 
power,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  submis 
sion  ;  he  came  and  went  at  her  bidding,  and  often 
she  would  send  for  him  when  he  least  expected  it. 
He  would  do  as  she  commanded,  somewhat  sullenly 
and  with  a  bad  grace,  but  obediently,  for  all  that ; 
she  had  his  destiny  in  her  hands,  and  could  in  a 
moment  frustrate  all  his  hopes.  But,  of  course,  she 
knew  that  if  she  betrayed  him  to  the  count,  Nino 
would  be  lost  to  her  also,  since  he  came  to  her  only 
in  order  to  maintain  his  relations  with  Hedwig. 

Meanwhile,  the  blue-eyed  maiden  of  the  North 
waxed  fitful.  Sometimes  two  or  three  lessons 
would  pass  in  severe  study.  Nino,  who  always  took 
care  to  know  the  passages  they  were  reading,  so 
that  he  might  look  at  her  instead  of  at  his  book, 
had  instituted  an  arrangement  by  which  they  sat 


76  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

opposite  each  other  at  a  small  table.  He  would 
watch  her  every  movement  and  look,  and  carry 
away  a  series  of  photographs  of  her,  —  a  whole 
row,  like  the  little  books  of  Roman  views  they  sell 
in  the  streets,  strung  together  on  a  strip  of  paper, 
—  and  these  views  of  her  lasted  with  him  for  two 
whole  days,  until  he  saw  her  again.  But  sometimes 
he  would  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  interval, 
driving  with  her  father. 

There  were  other  days  when  Hedwig  could  not 
be  induced  to  study,  but  would  overwhelm  Nino 
with  questions  about  his  wonderful  cousin  who 
sang ;  so  that  he  longed  with  his  whole  soul  to  tell 
her  it  was  he  himself  who  had  sung.  She  saw  his 
reluctance  to  speak  about  it,  and  she  blushed  when 
she  mentioned  the  night  at  the  Pantheon ;  but  for 
her  life  she  could  not  help  talking  of  the  pleasure 
she  had  had.  Her  blushes  seemed  like  the  promise 
of  spring  roses  to  her  lover,  who  drank  of  the  air 
of  her  presence  till  that  subtle  ether  ran  like  fire 
through  his  veins.  He  was  nothing  to  her,  he 
could  see ;  but  the  singer  of  the  Pantheon  engrossed 
her  thoughts  and  brought  the  hot  blood  to  her 
cheek.  The  beam  of  moonlight  had  pierced  the 
soft  virgin  darkness  of  her  sleeping  soul,  and  found 
a  heart  so  cold  and  spotless  that  even  a  moon  ray 
was  warm  by  comparison.  And  the  voice  that 
sang  "Spirto  gentil  dei  sogni  miei"  had  itself 
become  by  memory  the  gentle  spirit  of  her  own 
dreams.  She  is  so  full  of  imagination,  this  statue 
of  Nino's,  that  she  heard  the  notes  echoing  after 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  77 

her  by  day  and  night,  till  she  thought  she  must  go 
mad  unless  she  could  hear  the  reality  again.  As 
the  great  solemn  statue  of  Egyptian  Memnon  mur 
murs  sweet,  soft  sounds  to  its  mighty  self  at  sun 
rise,  a  musical  whisper  in  the  desert,  so  the  pure 
white  marble  of  Nino's  living  statue  vibrated  with 
strange  harmonies  all  the  day  long. 

One  night,  as  Nino  walked  homeward  with  De 
Pretis,  who  had  come  to  supper  with  us,  he  induced 
the  maestro  to  go  out  of  his  way  at  least  half  a 
mile,  to  pass  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  It  was  a 
still  night,  not  over-cold  for  December,  and  there 
were  neither  stars  nor  moon.  As  they  passed  the 
great  house  Nino  saw  a  light  in  Hedwig's  sitting- 
room  —  the  room  where  he  gave  her  the  lessons. 
It  was  late,  and  she  must  be  alone.  On  a  sudden 
he  stopped. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  asked  De  Pretis. 

For  all  answer,  Nino,  standing  in  the  dark  street 
below,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang  the  first  notes 
of  the  air  he  always  associated  with  his  beautiful 
contessina.  Before  he  had  sung  a  dozen  bars,  the 
window  opened,  and  the  girl's  figure  could  be  seen, 
black  against  the  light  within.  He  went  on  for  a 
few  notes,  and  then  ceased  suddenly. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Ercole ; 
and  they  went  away,  leaving  the  contessina  listen 
ing  in  the  stillness  to  the  echo  of  their  feet.  A 
Roman  girl  would  not  have  done  that ;  she  would 
have  sat  quietly  inside,  and  never  have  shown  her 
self.  But  foreigners  are  so  impulsive ! 


78  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Nino  never  heard  the  last  of  those  few  notes,  any 
more  than  the  contessina,  literally  speaking,  ever 
heard  the  end  of  the  song1. 

"  Your  cousin,  about  whom  you  make  so  much 
mystery,  passed  under  my  window  last  night,"  said 
the  young  lady  the  next  day,  with  the  usual  dis 
play  of  carnation  in  her  cheeks  at  the  mention  of 
him. 

"Indeed,  signorina?"  said  Nino  calmly,  for  he 
expected  the  remark.  "  And  since  you  have  never 
seen  him,  pray  how  did  you  know  it  was  he  ?  " 

"  How  should  one  know  ?  "  she  asked  scornfully. 
"There  are  not  two  such  voices  as  his  in  Italy. 
He  sang." 

"  He  sang  ?  "  cried  Nino,  with  an  affectation  of 
alarm.  "I  must  tell  the  maestro  not  to  let  him 
sing  in  the  open  air ;  he  will  lose  his  voice." 

"  Who  is  his  master  ?  "  asked  Hedwig,  suddenly. 

"I  cannot  remember  the  name  just  now,"  said 
Nino,  looking  away.  "  But  I  will  find  out,  if  you 
wish."  He  was  afraid  of  putting  De  Pretis  to  any 
inconvenience  by  saying  that  the  young  singer  was 
his  pupil.  "  However,"  he  continued,  "  you  will 
hear  him  sing  as  often  as  you  please,  after  he  makes 
his  debut  next  month."  He  sighed  when  he  thought 
that  it  would  all  so  soon  be  over.  For  how  could 
he  disguise  himself  any  longer,  when  he  should  be 
singing  in  public  every  night  ?  But  Hedwig  clapped 
her  hands. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Then  there  will  be  an 
end  of  the  mystery." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  79 

"  Yes,"  said  Nino  gravely,  "  there  will  be  an  end 
of  the  mystery." 

"  At  least  you  can  tell  me  his  name,  now  that  we 
shall  all  know  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  his  name  —  his  name  is  Cardegna,  like 
mine.  He  is  my  cousin,  you  know."  And  they 
went  on  with  the  lesson.  But  something  of  the 
kind  occurred  almost  every  time  he  came,  so  that  he 
felt  quite  sure  that,  however  indifferent  he  might  be 
in  her  eyes,  the  singer,  the  Nino  of  whom  she  knew 
nothing,  interested  her  deeply. 

Meanwhile  he  was  obliged  to  go  very  often  to  the 
baroness's  scented  boudoir,  which  smelled  of  incense 
and  other  Eastern  perfumes,  whenever  it  did  not 
smell  of  cigarettes ;  and  there  he  sang  little  songs, 
and  submitted  patiently  to  her  demands  for  more 
and  more  music.  She  would  sit  by  the  piano  and 
watch  him  as  he  sang,  wondering  whether  he  were 
handsome  or  ugly,  with  his  square  face  and  broad 
throat  and  the  black  circles  round  his  eyes.  He 
had  a  fascination  for  her,  as  being  something  ut 
terly  new  to  her. 

One  day  she  stood  and  looked  over  the  music  as 
he  sang,  almost  touching  him,  and  his  hair  was  so 
curly  and  soft  to  look  at  that  she  was  seized  with  a 
desire  to  stroke  it,  as  Mariuccia  strokes  the  old  gray 
cat  for  hours  together.  The  action  was  quite  invol 
untary,  and  her  fingers  rested  only  a  moment  on  his 
head. 

"  It  is  so  curly,"  she  said,  half  playfully,  half 
apologetically.  But  Nino  started  as  though  he  had 


80  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

been  stung,  and  his  dark  face  grew  pale.  A  girl 
could  not  have  seemed  more  hurt  at  a  strange  man's 
touch. 

"  Signora! "  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet.  The 
baroness,  who  is  as  dark  as  he,  blushed  almost  red, 
partly  because  she  was  angry,  and  partly  because 
she  was  ashamed. 

"  What  a  boy  you  are ! "  she  said,  carelessly 
enough,  and  turned  away  to  the  window,  pushing 
back  one  heavy  curtain  with  her  delicate  hand,  as 
if  she  would  look  out. 

"  Pardon  me,  signora,  I  am  not  a  boy,"  said  Nino, 
speaking  to  the  back  of  her  head  as  he  stood  behind 
her.  "  It  is  time  we  understood  each  other  better. 
I  love  like  a  man  and  I  hate  like  a  man.  I  love 
some  one  very  much." 

"  Fortunate  contessina !  "  laughed  the  baroness, 
mockingly,  without  turning  round. 

"  It  does  not  concern  you,  signora,  to  know  whom 
I  love,  nor,  if  you  know,  to  speak  of  her.  I  ask 
you  a  simple  question.  If  you  loved  a  man  with 
your  whole  soul  and  heart,  would  you  allow  another 
man  to  stand  beside  you  and  stroke  your  hair,  and 
say  it  was  curly  ?  "  The  baroness  burst  out  laugh 
ing.  "  Do  not  laugh,"  he  continued.  "  Remember 
that  I  am  in  your  power  only  so  long  as  it  pleases 
me  to  submit  to  you.  Do  not  abuse  your  advan 
tage,  or  I  will  be  capable  of  creating  for  myself 
situations  quite  as  satisfactory  as  that  of  Italian 
master  to  the  Signorina  di  Lira." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  turning  sud- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  81 

denly  upon  him.  "  I  suppose  you  would  tell  me 
that  you  will  make  advantages  for  yourself  which 
you  will  abuse,  against  me  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  mean  only  that  I  may 
not  wish  to  give  lessons  to  the  contessina  much 
longer."  By  this  time  the  baroness  had  recovered 
her  equanimity ;  and  as  she  would  have  been  sorry 
to  lose  Nino,  who  was  a  source  of  infinite  pleasure 
and  amusement  to  her,  she  decided  to  pacify  him, 
instead  of  teasing  him  any  more. 

"  Is  it  not  very  foolish  for  us  to  quarrel  about 
your  curly  hair  ?  "  said  she.  "  We  have  been  such 
good  friends,  always."  It  might  have  been  three 
weeks,  her  "  always." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  answered  Nino  gravely.  "  But  do 
not  stroke  my  hair  again,  Signora  Baronessa,  or  I 
shall  be  angry."  He  was  quite  serious,  if  you  be 
lieve  it,  though  he  was  only  twenty.  He  forthwith 
sat  down  to  the  piano  again  and  sang  on.  The 
baroness  sat  very  silent  and  scarcely  looked  at  him ; 
but  she  held  her  hands  clasped  on  her  knee,  and 
seemed  to  be  thinking.  After  a  time  Nino  stopped 
singing,  and  sat  silent  also,  absently  turning  over 
the  sheets  of  music.  It  was  warm  in  the  room,  and 
the  sounds  from  the  street  were  muffled  and  far 
away. 

"  Signer  Nino,"  said  the  lady  at  last,  in  a  differ 
ent  voice,  "  I  am  married." 

"  Yes,  signora,"  he  replied,  wondering  what  would 
come  next. 

"  It  would  be  very  foolish  of  me  to  care  for  you." 
6 


82  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"It  would  also  be  very  wicked,"  he  said  calmly; 
for  he  is  well  grounded  in  religion.  The  baroness 
stared  at  him  in  some  surprise ;  but  seeing  he  was 
perfectly  serious,  she  went  on. 

"  Precisely,  as  you  say,  very  wicked.  That  being 
the  case,  I  have  decided  not  to  care  for  you  any 
more  —  I  mean,  not  to  care  for  you  at  all.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  be  your  friend;" 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  ladyship,"  he  an 
swered,  without  moving  a  muscle.  For  you  see,  he 
did  not  believe  her. 

"Now  tell  me,  then,  Signer  Nino,  are  you  in 
earnest  in  what  you  are  doing  ?  Do  you  really  set 
your  heart  on  doing  this  thing?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Nino,  annoyed  at  the  persist 
ence  of  the  woman. 

"Why  need  you  be  afraid  to  understand  me? 
Can  you  not  forgive  me  ?  Can  you  not  believe  in 
me,  that  I  will  be  your  friend?  I  have  always 
dreamed  of  being  the  friend  of  a  great  artist.  Let 
me  be  yours,  and  believe  me,  the  thing  you  have 
in  your  heart  shall  be  done." 

"  I  would  like  to  hope  so,"  he  said.  But  he 
smiled  incredulously.  "  I  can  only  say  that  if  you 
can  accomplish  what  it  is  in  my  heart  to  do,  I  will 
go  through  fire  and  water  at  your  bidding ;  and  if 
you  are  not  mocking  me,  I  am  very  grateful  for  the 
offer.  But  if  you  please,  signora,  we  will  not  speak 
any  more  of  this  at  present.  I  may  be  a  great  ar 
tist,  some  day.  Sometimes  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall. 
But  now  I  am  simply  Giovanni  Cardegna,  teacher 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  83 

of  literature  ;  and  the  highest  favor  you  can  confer 
on  me  is  not  to  deprive  me  of  my  means  of  support, 
by  revealing  to  the  Conte  di  Lira  my  other  occupa 
tion.  I  may  fail  hopelessly  at  the  outset  of  my 
artistic  career,  and  in  that  case  I  shall  certainly 
remain  a  teacher  of  language." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  baroness,  in  a  subdued 
voice  ;  for,  in  spite  of  her  will  and  willfulness,  this 
square-faced  boy  of  mine  was  more  than  a  match 
for  her.  "  Very  well,  you  will  believe  me  another 
day,  and  now  I  will  ask  you  to  go,  for  I  am  tired." 

I  cannot  be  interrupted  by  your  silly  questions 
about  the  exact  way  in  which  things  happened.  I 
must  tell  this  story  in  my  own  way,  or  not  at  all ; 
and  I  am  sacrificing  a  great  deal  to  your  taste  in 
cutting  out  all  the  little  things  that  I  really  most 
enjoy  telling.  Whether  you  are  astonished  at  the 
conduct  of  the  baroness,  after  a  three  weeks'  ac 
quaintance,  or  not,  I  care  not  a  fig.  It  is  just  the 
way  it  happened,  and  I  dare  say  she  was  really 
madly  in  love  with  Nino.  If  I  had  been  Nino,  I 
should  have  been  in  love  with  her.  But  I  would 
like  you  to  admire  my  boy's  audacity,  and  to  review 
the  situation,  before  I  go  on  to  speak  of  that  im 
portant  event  in  his  life,  his  first  appearance  on  the 
boards  of  the  opera.  At  the  time  of  his  ddbut  he 
was  still  disguised  as  a  teacher  of  Italian  to  the 
young  contessina.  She  thought  him  interesting 
and  intelligent,  but  that  was  all.  Her  thoughts 
were  entirely,  though  secretly,  engrossed  by  the 
mysterious  singer,  whom  she  had  heard  twice,  but 


84  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

had  not  seen,  as  far  as  she  knew.  Nino,  on  the 
other  hand,  loved  her  to  desperation,  and  would 
have  acted  like  a  madman  had  he  been  deprived  of 
his  privilege  of  speaking  to  her  three  times  a  week. 
He  loved  her  with  the  same  earnest  determination 
to  win  her  that  he  had  shown  for  years  in  the  study 
of  his  art,  and  with  all  the  rest  of  his  nature  be 
sides,  which  is  saying  much  —  not  to  mention  his 
soul,  of  which  he  thinks  a  great  deal  more  than 
I  do. 

Besides  this,  the  baroness  had  apparently  fallen 
in  love  with  him,  had  made  him  her  intimate,  and 
flattered  him  in  a  way  to  turn  his  head.  Then  she 
seemed  to  have  thought  better  of  her  passion,  and 
had  promised  him  her  friendship,  —  a  promise 
which  he  himself  considered  of  no  importance 
whatever.  As  for  the  old  Conte  di  Lira,  he  read 
the  German  newspapers,  and  cared  for  none  of 
these  things.  De  Pretis  took  an  extra  pinch  of  his 
good  snuff,  when  he  thought  that  his  liberal  ideas 
might  yet  be  realized,  and  a  man  from  the  people 
marry  a  great  lady  by  fairly  winning  her.  Do  not, 
after  this,  complain  that  I  have  left  you  in  the 
dark,  or  that  you  do  not  know  how  it  happened. 
It  is  as  clear  as  water,  and  it  was  about  four 
months  from  the  time  Nino  saw  Hedwig  in  St.  Pe 
ter's  to  the  time  when  he  first  sang  in  public. 

Christmas  passed  by,  —  thank  Heaven,  the  mu 
nicipality  has  driven  away  those  most  detestable 
pifferari,  who  played  on  their  discordant  bagpipes 
at  every  corner  for  a  fortnight,  and  nearly  drove 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  85 

me  crazy,  —  and  the  Befana,  as  we  call  the  Epiph 
any  in  Rome,  was  gone,  with  its  gay  racket,  and 
the  night  fair  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  and  the  days 
for  Nino's  first  appearance  drew  near.  I  never 
knew  anything  about  the  business  arrangements  for 
the  debut,  since  De  Pretis  settled  all  that  with 
Jacovacci,  the  impresario  ;  but  I  know  that  there 
were  many  rehearsals,  and  that  I  was  obliged  to 
stand  security  to  the  theatrical  tailor,  together  with 
De  Pretis,  in  order  that  Nino  might  have  his  dress 
made.  As  for  the  cowl  in  the  last  act,  De  Pretis 
has  a  brother  who  is  a  monk,  and  between  them 
they  put  together  a  very  decent  friar's  costume  ; 
and  Mariuccia  had  a  good  piece  of  rope,  which 
Nino  used  for  a  girdle. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  he  said,  with  much 
good  sense.  "  For  if  I  sing  well,  they  will  not  look 
at  my  monk's  hood ;  and  if  I  sing  badly,  I  may  be 
dressed  like  the  Holy  Father,  and  they  will  hiss  me 
just  the  same.  But  in  the  beginning  I  must  look 
like  a  courtier,  and  be  dressed  like  one." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  wish  you  had 
taken  to  philosophy." 


VI. 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  day  of  Nino's  first  ap 
pearance.  You  may  imagine  whether  we  were  in 
a  state  of  excitement  or  not,  after  all  these  years 
of  study  and  waiting.  There  was  much  more 
trouble  and  worry  than  if  he  had  written  a  great 
book,  and  was  just  to  publish  it,  and  receive  the 
homage  of  all  the  learning  and  talent  in  Europe ; 
which  is  the  kind  of  debut  I  had  hoped  he  would 
make  in  life,  instead  of  putting  on  a  foolish  dress, 
and  stamping  about  on  a  stage,  and  squalling  love 
songs  to  a  packed  house,  making  pantomime  with 
his  hands,  and  altogether  behaving  like  an  idiot,  — 
a  crowd  of  people  ready  to  hiss  him  at  the  slightest 
indication  of  weakness,  or  to  carry  him  on  their 
shoulders  if  they  fancied  his  voice  to  their  taste. 

No  wonder  Nino  was  sad  and  depressed  all  day, 
and  when  he  tried  his  voice  in  the  afternoon  thought 
it  was  less  clear  than  usual,  and  stared  at  himself 
in  the  looking-glass,  wondering  whether  he  were  not 
too  ugly  altogether,  as  I  always  told  him.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  not  so  ugly  as  he  had  been  ;  for 
the  months  with  the  contessina  had  refined  him  sin 
gularly,  and  perhaps  he  had  caught  a  certain  grace 
of  manner  from  the  baroness.  He  had  grown  more 
silent,  too,  and  seemed  always  preoccupied,  as  well 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  87 

he  might  be ;  but  he  had  concealed  his  affair  with 
the  Lira  family  from  me  until  that  day,  and  I  sup 
posed  him  anxious  about  his  appearance. 

Early  in  the  morning  came  De  Pretis,  and  sug 
gested  that  it  would  be  better  for  Nino  to  take  a 
walk  and  breathe  the  fresh  air  a  little  ;  so  I  bade 
him  go,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again  until  the  after 
noon.  De  Pretis  said  that  the  only  cause  for  anxi 
ety  was  from  stage  fright,  and  went  away  taking 
snuff  and  flourishing  his  immense  cotton  handker 
chief.  I  thought  a  man  must  be  a  fool  to  work 
for  years  in  order  to  sing,  and  then,  when  he  had 
learned  to  do  it  quite  well,  to  be  afraid  of  showing 
what  he  knew.  I  did  not  think  Nino  would  be 
frightened. 

Of  course,  there  was  a  final  rehearsal  at  eleven, 
and  Nino  put  off  the  hour  of  the  lesson  with  the 
contessina  to  three  in  the  afternoon,  by  some  ex 
cuse  or  other.  He  must  have  felt  very  much 
pressed  for  time,  having  to  give  her  a  lesson  on  the 
very  day  of  his  coming  out ;  and  besides,  he  knew 
very  well  that  it  might  be  the  last  of  his  days  with 
her,  and  that  a  great  deal  would  depend  on  the  way 
he  bore  himself  at  his  trial.  He  sang  badly,  or 
thought  he  did,  at  the  rehearsal,  and  grew  more 
and  more  depressed  and  grave  as  the  day  advanced. 
He  came  out  of  the  little  stage  door  of  the  Apollo 
theatre  at  Tordinona,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
broad  bills  and  posters  announcing  the  first  appear 
ance  of  "  Giovanni  Cardegna,  the  most  distin 
guished  pupil  of  the  Maestro  Ercole  De  Pretis,  in 


88  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Verdi's  opera  the  Favorita."  His  heart  sank  at 
the  sight  of  his  own  name,  and  he  turned  towards 
the  Bridge  of  Sant'  Angelo  to  get  away  from  it. 
He  was  the  last  to  leave  the  theatre,  and  De  Pretis 
was  with  him. 

At  that  moment  he  saw  Hedwig  von  Lira  sitting 
in  an  open  carriage,  in  front  of  the  box  office.  De 
Pretis  bowed  low ;  she  smiled ;  and  Nino  took  off 
his  hat,  but  would  not  go  near  her,  escaping  in  the 
opposite  direction.  He  thought  she  looked  some 
what  surprised,  but  his  only  idea  was  to  get  away, 
lest  she  should  call  him  and  put  some  awkward 
question. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  he  entered  her  sitting- 
room.  There  she  sat,  as  usual,  with  her  books, 
awaiting  him  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  a  fair,  girl 
ish  figure  with  gold  hair,  but  oh,  so  cold  !  —  it 
makes  me  shiver  to  think  of  how  she  used  to  look. 
Possibly  there  was  a  dreaminess  about  her  blue 
eyes  that  made  up  for  her  manner  ;  but  how  Nino 
could  love  her,  I  cannot  understand.  It  must  have 
been  like  making  love  to  a  pillar  of  ice. 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  you  for  allowing  me  to 
come  at  this  hour,  signorina,"  he  said,  as  he  bowed. 

"Ah,  professore,  it  looks  almost  as  though  it 
were  you  yourself  who  were  to  make  your  debut," 
said  she,  laughing  and  leaning  back  in  her  chair. 
"  Your  name  is  on  every  corner  in  Rome,  and  I 
saw  you  coming  out  of  a  side  door  of  the  theatre 
this  morning."  Nino  trembled,  but  reflected  that 
if  she  had  suspected  anything  she  would  not  have 
made  so  light  of  it. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  89 

"  The  fact  is,  signorina,  my  cousin  is  so  nervous 
that  he  begged  me  earnestly  to  be  present  at  the 
rehearsal  this  morning ;  and  as  it  is  the  great  event 
of  his  life,  I  could  not  easily  refuse  him.  I  pre 
sume  you  are  going  to  hear  him,  since  I  saw  your 
carriage  at  the  theatre." 

"  Yes.  At  the  last  minute,  my  father  wanted  to 
change  our  box  for  one  nearer  the  stage,  and  so 
we  went  ourselves.  The  baroness  —  you  know,  the 
lady  who  went  with  us  to  the  Pantheon  —  is  going 
with  us  to-night."  It  was  the  first  time  Hedwig 
had  mentioned  her,  and  it  was  evident  that  Nino's 
intimacy  with  the  baroness  had  been  kept  a  secret. 
How  long  would  it  be  so  ?  Mechanically  he  pro 
ceeded  with  the  lesson,  thinking  mournfully  that  he 
should  never  give  her  another.  But  Hedwig  was 
more  animated  than  he  had  ever  seen  her,  and 
often  stopped  to  ask  questions  about  the  coming 
performance.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  entirely 
absorbed  with  the  thought  of  at  last  hearing  to  its 
fullest  extent  the  voice  that  had  haunted  her 
dreams ;  most  of  all,  with  the  anticipation  of  what 
this  wonderful  singer  would  be  like.  Dwelling  on 
the  echo  of  his  singing  for  months  had  roused  her 
interest  and  curiosity  to  such  a  pitch  that  she  could 
hardly  be  quiet  a  moment,  or  think  calmly  of  what 
she  was  to  enjoy  ;  and  yet  she  looked  so  very  cold 
and  indifferent  at  most  times.  But  Nino  had  no 
ticed  all  this,  and  rejoiced  at  it ;  young  as  he  was, 
however,  he  understood  that  the  discovery  she  was 
about  to  make  would  be  a  shock  that  would  cer- 


90  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

tainly  produce  some  palpable  result,  when  she 
should  see  him  from  her  box  in  the  theatre.  He 
trembled  for  the  consequences. 

The  lesson  was  over  all  too  soon,  and  Nino  lin 
gered  a  moment  to  see  whether  the  very  last  drops 
of  his  cup  of  happiness  might  not  still  be  sweet. 
He  did  not  know  when  he  should  see  her  again, 
to  speak  with  her;  and  though  he  determined  it 
should  not  be  long,  the  future  seemed  very  uncer 
tain,  and  he  would  look  on  her  loveliness  while  he 
might. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  my  cousin's  singing,"  he 
said,  rather  timidly. 

"  If  he  sings  as  he  has  sung  before  he  is  the 
greatest  artist  living,"  she  said  calmly,  as  though 
no  one  would  dispute  it.  "  But  I  am  curious  to 
see  him,  as  well  as  to  hear  him." 

"  He  is  not  handsome,"  said  Nino,  smiling  a  lit 
tle.  "  In  fact,  there  is  a  family  resemblance ;  he  is 
said  to  look  like  me." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before  ?  "  she 
asked  quickly,  and  fixed  her  blue  eyes  on  Nino's 
face,  as  though  she  wished  to  photograph  the  fea 
tures  in  her  mind. 

"I  did  not  suppose  the  signorina  would  think 
twice  about  a  singer's  appearance,"  said  Nino  qui 
etly.  Hedwig  blushed  and  turned  awa}r,  busying 
herself  with  her  books.  At  that  moment  Graf 
vori  Lira  entered  from  the  next  room.  Nino 
bowed. 

"  Curious  is  it,"  said  the  count,  "  that  you  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  91 

the  about-to-make-his-appearance  tenor  should  the 
same  name  have." 

"He  is  a  near  relation,  Signor  Conte,  —  the  same 
whom  you  heard  sing  in  the  Pantheon.  I  hope 
you  will  like  his  voice." 

"  That  is  what  we  shall  see,  Signor  Professore," 
answered  the  other  severely.  He  had  a  curious 
way  of  bowing,  as  though  he  were  made  only  in 
two  pieces,  from  his  waist  to  his  heels,  and  from 
his  waist  to  the  crown  of  his  head.  Nino  went  his 
way  sadly,  and  wondering  how  Hedwig  would  look 
when  she  should  recognize  him  from  her  box  in  the 
theatre,  that  very  evening. 

It  is  a  terrible  and  a  heart-tearing  thing  to  part 
from  the  woman  one  loves.  That  is  nothing  new, 
you  say.  Every  one  knows  that.  Perhaps  so, 
though  I  think  not.  Only  those  can  know  it  who 
have  experienced  it,  and  for  them  no  explanations 
are  in  any  way  at  all  necessary.  The  mere  word 
"  parting  "  calls  up  such  an  infinity  of  sorrow  that 
it  is  better  to  draw  a  veil  over  the  sad  thing  and 
bury  it  out  of  sight,  and  put  upon  it  the  seal  on 
which  is  graven  "  No  Hope." 

Moreover,  when  a  man  only  supposes,  as  Nino 
did,  that  he  is  leaving  the  woman  he  loves,  or  is 
about  to  leave  her,  until  he  can  devise  some  new 
plan  for  seeing  her,  the  case  is  not  so  very  serious. 
Nevertheless,  Nino,  who  is  of  a  very  tender  con 
stitution  of  the  affections,  suffered  certain  pangs 
which  are  always  hard  to  bear,  and  as  he  walked 
slowly  down  the  street  he  hung  his  head  low,  and 


92  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

did  not  look  like  a  man  who  could  possibly  be  suc 
cessful  in  anything  he  might  undertake  that  day. 
Yet  it  was  the  most  important  day  of  his  life,  and 
had  it  not  been  that  he  had  left  Hedwig  with  little 
hope  of  ever  giving  her  another  lesson,  he  would 
have  been  so  happy  that  the  whole  air  would  have 
seemed  dancing  with  sunbeams  and  angels  and 
flowers.  I  think  that  when  a  man  loves  he  cares 
very  little  for  what  he  does.  The  greatest  success 
is  indifferent  to  him,  and  he  cares  not  at  all  for 
failure,  in  the  ordinary  undertakings  of  life.  These 
are  my  reflections,  and  they  are  worth  something, 
because  I  once  loved  very  much  myself,  and  was 
parted  from  her  I  loved  many  times,  before  the  last 
parting. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  Nino  came  to  me  and 
told  me  all  the  history  of  the  past  months,  of  which 
I  knew  nothing ;  but,  as  you  know  all  about  it,  I 
need  not  tell  you  what  the  conversation  was  like, 
until  he  had  finished.  Then  I  told  him  he  was 
the  prince  and  chief  of  donkeys,  which  was  no  more 
than  the  truth,  as  everybody  will  allow.  He  only 
spread  out  his  palms  and  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
putting  his  head  on  one  side,  as  though  to  say  he 
could  not  help  it. 

"  Is  it  perhaps  my  fault  that  you  are  a  little  don 
key?"  I  asked;  for  you  may  imagine  whether  I 
was  angry  or  not. 

"  Certainly  not,  Sor  Cornelio,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
entirely  my  own  doing;  but  I  do  not  see  that  I  ana 
a  donkey." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  93 

"  Blood  of  Bacchus  !  "  I  ejaculated,  holding  up 
my  hands.  "  He  does  not  believe  he  is  a  great 
stupid !  "  But  Nino  was  not  angry  at  all.  He 
busied  himself  a  little  with  his  costume,  which  was 
laid  out  011  the  piano,  with  the  sword  and  the  tinsel 
collar,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 

"  I  am  in  love,"  he  said.  "  What  would  you 
have  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  you  put  a  little  giudizio,  just  a 
grain  of  judgment  and  common  sense,  into  your 
love  affairs.  Why,  you  go  about  it  as  though  it 
were  the  most  innocent  thing  in  the  world  to  dis 
guise  yourself,  and  present  yourself  as  a  professor 
in  a  nobleman's  house,  in  order  to  make  love  to  his 
daughter !  You,  to  make  love  to  a  noble  damigella, 
a  young  countess,  with  a  fortune !  Go  back  to 
Serveti,  and  marry  the  first  contadina  girl  you 
meet ;  it  is  much  more  fitting,  if  you  must  needs 
marry  at  all.  I  repeat  it,  you  are  an  ignorant  don- 
key!" 

"  Eh !  "  cried  Nino,  perfectly  unmoved,  "  if  I  am 
ignorant,  it  is  not  for  lack  of  your  teaching ;  and  as 
for  being  the  beast  of  burden  to  which  you  refer,  I 
have  heard  it  said  that  you  were  once  in  love  your 
self.  Meanwhile,  I  have  told  you  this,  because 
there  will  perhaps  be  trouble,  and  I  did  not  intend 
you  to  be  surprised." 

"  Surprised  ? "  said  I.  "  I  would  not  be  sur 
prised  at  anything  you  might  fancy  doing,  now. 
No,  I  would  not  dream  of  being  surprised !  " 

"  So  much  the  better,"  answered  Nino  impertur- 


94  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

bably.  He  looked  sad  and  weary,  though,  and  as  I 
am  a  prudent  man  I  put  my  anger  away  to  cool  for 
a  little  while,  and  indulged  in  a  cigar  until  it  should 
be  time  to  go  to  the  theatre  ;  for  of  course  I  went 
with  him,  and  Mariuccia  too,  to  help  him  with  his 
dress.  Poor  old  Mariuccia !  she  had  dressed  him 
when  he  was  a  ragged  little  boy,  and  she  was  deter 
mined  to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his  appear 
ance  now  that  he  was  about  to  be  a  great  man,  she 
said.  His  dressing-room  was  a  narrow  little  place, 
sufficiently  ill  lighted,  and  there  was  barely  space 
to  turn  round.  Mariuccia,  who  had  brought  the  cat 
and  had  her  pocket  full  of  roasted  chestnuts,  sat 
outside  on  a  chair  until  he  was  ready  for  her  ;  and 
I  am  sure  that  if  she  had  spent  her  life  in  the  pro 
fession  of  adorning  players  she  could  not  have  used 
her  fingers  more  deftly  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
collar  and  sword.  Nino  had  a  fancy  to  wear  a 
mustache  and  a  pointed  beard  through  the  first  part 
of  the  opera ;  saying  that  a  courtier  always  had 
hair  on  his  face,  but  that  he  would  naturally  shave 
if  he  turned  monk.  I  represented  to  him  that  it 
was  needless  expense,  since  he  must  deposit  the 
value  of  the  false  beard  with  the  theatre  barber, 
who  lives  opposite  ;  and  it  was  twenty-three  francs. 
Besides,  he  would  look  like  a  different  man  —  two 
separate  characters. 

"  I  do  not  care  a  cabbage  for  that,"  said  Nino. 
"  If  they  cannot  recognize  me  with  their  ears,  they 
need  not  trouble  themselves  to  recognize  me  at  all." 

"  It  is  a  fact  that  their  ears  are  quite  long 
enough,"  said  Mariuccia. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  95 

"  Hush,  Mariuccia !  "  I  said.  "  The  Roman  pub 
lic  is  the  most  intelligent  public  in  the  world." 
And  at  this  she  grumbled. 

But  I  knew  well  enough  why  he  wanted  to  wear 
the  beard.  He  had  a  fancy  to  put  off  the  evil  mo 
ment  as  long  as  possible,  so  that  Hedwig  might  not 
recognize  him  till  the  last  act,  —  a  foolish  fancy,  in 
truth,  for  a  woman's  eyes  are  not  like  a  man's; 
and  though  Hedwig  had  never  thought  twice  about 
Nino's  personality,  she  had  not  sat  opposite  him 
three  times  a  week  for  nearly  four  months  without 
knowing  all  his  looks  and  gestures.  It  is  an  absurd 
idea,  too,  to  attempt  to  fence  with  time,  when  a 
thing  must  come  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two. 
What  is  it,  after  all,  the  small  delay  you  can  pro 
duce?  The  click  of  a  few  more  seconds  in  the 
clock-work,  before  the  hammer  smites  its  angry 
warning  on  the  bell,  and  leaves  echoes  of  pain 
writhing  through  the  poor  bronze,  —  that  is  Time. 
As  for  Eternity,  it  is  a  question  of  the  calculus,  and 
does  not  enter  into  a  singer's  first  appearance,  nor 
into  the  recognition  of  a  lover.  If  it  did,  I  would 
give  you  an  eloquent  dissertation  upon  it,  so  that 
you  would  yawn  and  take  snuff,  and  wish  me  car 
ried  off  by  the  diavolo  to  some  place  where  I  might 
lecture  on  the  infinite  without  fear  of  being  inter 
rupted,  or  of  keeping  sinners  like  you  imnecessarily 
long  awake.  There  will  be  no  hurry  then.  Poor 
old  diavolo !  he  must  have  a  dull  time  of  it  among: 

o 

all  those  heretics.     Perhaps  he  has  a  little  variety, 
for  they  say  he  has  written  up  on  his  door,  "  Ici  Ton 


96  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

parle  fran^ais,"  since  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  died. 
But  I  must  go  on,  or  you  will  never  be  any  wiser 
than  you  are  now,  which  is  not  saying  overmuch. 

I  am  not  going  to  give  you  a  description  of  the 
Favorite,  which  you  may  hear  a  dozen  times  a  year 
at  the  theatre,  for  more  or  less  money  —  but  it  is 
only  a  franc  if  you  stand ;  quite  enough,  too.  I 
went  upon  the  stage  before  it  began,  and  peeped 
through  the  curtain  to  see  what  kind  of  an  audience 
there  was.  It  is  an  old  curtain,  and  there  is  a  hole 
in  it  on  the  right-hand  side,  which  De  Pretis  says 
was  made  by  a  foreign  tenor,  some  years  ago,  be 
tween  the  acts ;  and  Jacovacci,  the  impresario,  tried 
to  make  him  pay  five  francs  to  have  it  repaired,  but 
did  not  get  the  money.  It  is  a  better  hole  than  the 
one  in  the  middle,  which  is  so  far  from  both  sides 
of  the  house  that  you  cannot  see  the  people  well. 
So  I  looked  through,  and  there,  sure  enough,  in  a 
box  very  near  to  the  stage,  sat  the  Contessina  di 
Lira  and  the  baroness,  whom  I  had  never  seen  be 
fore,  but  recognized  from  Nino's  description  ;  and 
behind  them  sat  the  count  himself,  with  his  great 
gray  mustaches  and  a  white  cravat.  They  made  me 
think  of  the  time  when  I  used  to  go  to  the  theatre 
myself  and  sit  in  a  box,  and  applaud  or  hiss,  just 
as  I  pleased.  Dio  mio !  what  changes  in  this 
world ! 

I  recognized  also  a  great  many  of  our  noble 
ladies,  with  jewels  and  other  ornaments,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  some  of  them  were  much  more 
beautiful  than  the  German  contessiua  whom  Nino 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  97 

had  elected  to  worship,  though  she  was  well  enough, 
to  be  sure,  in  white  silk  and  white  fur,  with  her  little 
gold  cross  at  her  throat.  To  think  that  a  statue 
like  that,  brought  up  with  all  the  proprieties,  should 
have  such  a  strange  chapter  of  life !  But  my  eye 
began  to  smart  from  peering  through  the  little  hole, 
and  just  then  a  rough-looking  fellow  connected  with 
the  stage  reminded  me  that,  whatever  relation  I 
might  be  to  the  primo  tenore,  I  was  not  dressed  to 
appear  in  the  first  act ;  then  the  audience  began  to 
stamp  and  groan  because  the  performance  did  not 
begin,  and  I  went  away  again  to  tell  Nino  that  he 
had  a  packed  house.  I  found  De  Pretis  giving 
him  blackberry  syrup,  which  he  had  brought  in  a 
bottle,  and  entreating  him  to  have  courage.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  Nino  had  the  more  courage  of 
the  two  ;  for  De  Pretis  laughed  and  cried  and  blew 
his  nose,  and  took  snuff  with  his  great  fat  fingers, 
and  acted  altogether  like  a  poor  fool;  while  Nino 
sat  on  a  rush-bottomed  chair  and  watched  Mariuccia, 
who  was  stroking  the  old  cat  and  nibbling  roasted 
chestnuts,  declaring  all  the  while  that  Nino  was  the 
most  beautiful  object  she  had  ever  seen.  Then  the 
bass  and  the  baritone  came,  together,  and  spoke 
cheering  words  to  Nino,  and  invited  him  to  supper 
afterwards  ;  but  he  thanked  them  kindly,  and  told 
them  that  he  was  expected  at  home,  and  would  go 
with  them  after  the  next  performance  —  if  there 
ever  were  a  "  next."  He  thought  he  might  fail  at 
the  last  minute. 

Nino  had   judged  more  rightly  than  I,  when  he 
7 


98  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

supposed  that  his  beard  and  mustaches  would  dis 
guise  him  from  Hedwig  during  the  first  two  acts. 
She  recognized  the  wondrous  voice,  and  she  saw  the 
strong  resemblance  he  had  spoken  of.  Once  or 
twice,  as  he  looked  toward  her,  it  seemed  indeed 
that  the  eyes  must  be  his,  with  their  deep  circles 
and  serious  gaze.  But  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  it 
anything  more  than  a  resemblance.  As  the  opera 
advanced,  it  became  evident  that  Nino  was  making 
a  success.  Then  in  the  second  act  it  was  clear  that 
the  success  was  growing  to  be  an  ovation,  and  the 
ovation  a  furore,  in  which  the  house  became  entirely 
demoralized,  and  vouchsafed  to  listen  only  so  long 
as  Nino  was  singing  —  screaming  with  delight  be 
fore  he  had  finished  what  he  had  to  sing  in  each 
scene.  People  sent  their  servants  away  in  hot 
haste  to  buy  flowers  wherever  they  could,  and  he 
came  back  to  his  dressing-room,  from  the  second 
act,  carrying  bouquets  by  the  dozen,  small  bunches 
and  big,  such  as  people  had  been  able  to  get,  or  had 
brought  with  them.  His  eyes  shone  like  the  coals 
in  Mariuccia's  scaldino,  as  he  entered,  and  he  was 
pale  through  his  paint.  He  could  hardly  speak 
for  joy ;  but,  as  old  habits  return  unconsciously  at 
great  moments  in  a  man's  life,  he  took  the  cat  on 
his  knee  and  pulled  its  tail. 

"Sing  thou  also,  little  beast,"  he  said  gravely; 
and  he  pulled  the  tail  till  the  cat  squeaked  a  little, 
and  he  was  satisfied. 

"  Bene  !  "  he  cried ;  "  and  now  for  the  tonsure 
and  frock.  So  Mariuccia  was  turned  out  into  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  99 

passage  while  he  changed  his  dress.  De  Pretis 
came  back  a  moment  later,  and  tried  to  help  him  ; 
but  he  was  so  much  overcome  that  he  could  only 
shed  tears  and  give  a  last  word  of  advice  for  the 
next  act. 

"  You  must  not  sing  it  too  loud,  Nino  mio,"  he 
said. 

"  Diavolo !  "  said  Nino.     "  I  should  think  not !  " 

"  But  you  must  not  squeak  it  out  in  a  little  wee 
false  voice,  as  small  as  this ;  "  the  maestro  held  up 
his  thumb  and  finger,  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  between 
them. 

"  Bah  !  Sor  Ercole,  do  you  take  me  for  a  so 
prano  ?  "  cried  the  boy,  laughing,  as  he  washed  off 
the  paint  and  the  gum,  where  the  beard  had  stuck. 
Presently  he  got  into  his  frock,  which,  as  I  told  you, 
was  a  real  one,  provided  by  Ercole's  brother,  the 
Franciscan  —  quite  quietly,  of  course,  for  it  would 
seem  a  dreadful  thing  to  use  a  real  monk's  frock 
in  an  opera.  Then  we  fastened  the  rope  round  his 
waist,  and  smoothed  his  curly  hair  a  little  to  give 
him  a  more  pious  aspect.  He  looked  as  white  as 
a  pillow  when  the  paint  was  gone. 

"  Tell  me  a  little,  my  father,"  said  old  Mariuccia, 
mocking  him,  "  do  you  fast  on  Sundays,  that  you 
look  so  pale  ?  "  Whereat  Nino  struck  an  attitude, 
and  began  singing  a  love  song  to  the  ancient  wo 
man.  Indeed,  she  was  joking  about  the  fast,  for 
she  had  expended  my  substance,  of  late,  in  fatten 
ing  Nino,  as  she  called  it,  for  his  appearance,  and 
there  was  to  be  broiled  chickens  for  supper  that 


100  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

very  night.  He  was  only  pale  because  he  was  in 
love.  As  for  me,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  stand  in 
the  slides,  so  that  I  could  see  the  contessina ;  for 
Nino  had  whispered  to  me  that  she  had  not  yet 
recognized  him,  though  she  stared  hard  across  the 
footlights.  Therefore  I  took  up  a  good  position 
on  the  left  of  the  stage,  facing  the  Lira  box,  which 
was  on  the  right. 

The  curtain  went  up,  and  Nino  stood  there,  look 
ing  like  a  real  monk,  with  a  book  in  his  hand  and 
his  eyes  cast  down,  as  he  began  to  walk  slowly 
along.  I  saw  Hedwig  von  Lira's  gaze  rest  on  his 
square,  pale  face  at  least  one  whole  minute.  Then 
she  gave  a  strange  little  cry,  so  that  many  people 
in  the  house  looked  toward  her  ;  and  she  leaned  far 
back  in  the  shadow  of  the  deep  box,  while  the  re 
flected  glare  of  the  footlights  just  shone  faintly  on 
her  features,  making  them  look  more  like  marble 
than  ever.  The  baroness  was  smiling  to  herself, 
amused  at  her  companion's  surprise,  and  the  old 
count  stared  stolidly  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
turned  suddenly  to  his  daughter. 

"  Very  curious  is  it,"  he  was  probably  saying, 
"that  this  tenor  should  so  much  your  Italian  pro 
fessor  resemble."  I  could  almost  see  his  gray  eyes 
sparkle  angrily  across  the  theatre.  But  as  I  looked, 
a  sound  rose  on  the  heated  air,  the  like  of  which  I 
have  never  known.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  not 
heard  the  first  two  acts,  for  I  did  not  suppose  there 
was  any  great  difference  between  Nino's  singing 
on  the  stage  and  his  singing  at  home,  and  I  still 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  101 

wished  he  might  have  chosen  some  other  profession. 
But  when  I  heard  this,  I  yielded,  at  least  for  the 
time,  ancl  I  am  not  sure  that  my  eyes  were  as  clear 
as  usual. 

"  Spirto  gentil  dei  sogni  miei "  — the  long  sweet 
notes  sighed  themselves  to  death  on  his  lips,  falling 
and  rising  magically  like  a  mystic  angel  song,  and 
swaying  their  melody  out  into  the  world  of  lights 
and  listeners  ;  so  pathetic,  so  heart-breaking,  so  la 
den  with  death  and  with  love,  that  it  was  as  though 
all  the  sorrowing  souls  in  our  poor  Rome  breathed 
in  one  soft  sigh  together.  Only  a  poor  monk  dying 
of  love  in  a  monastery,  tenderly  and  truly  loving  to 
the  bitter  end.  Dio  mio  !  there  are  perhaps  many 
such.  But  a  monk  like  this,  with  a  face  like  a 
conqueror,  set  square  in  its  whiteness,  and  yet  so 
wretched  to  see  in  his  poor  patched  frock  and  his 
bare  feet ;  a  monk,  too,  not  acting  love,  but  really 
and  truly  ready  to  die  for  a  beautiful  woman  not 
thirty  feet  from  him,  in  the  house  ;  above  all,  a 
monk  with  a  voice  that  speaks  like  the  clarion  call 
of  the  day  of  judgment  in  its  wrath,  and  murmurs 
more  plaintively  and  sadly  in  sorrow  than  ever  the 
poor  Peri  sighed  at  the  gates  of  Paradise  —  such  a 
monk,  what  could  he  not  make  people  feel  ? 

The  great  crowd  of  men  and  women  sat  utterly 
stilled  and  intent  till  he  had  sung  the  very  last  note. 
Not  a  sound  was  heard  to  offend  the  sorrow  that 
spoke  from  the  boy's  lips.  Then  all  those  people 
seemed  to  draw  three  long  breaths  of  wonder  —  a 
pause,  a  thrilling  tremor  in  the  air,  and  then  there 


102  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

burst  to  the  roof  such  a  roar  of  cries,  such  a  huge 
thunder  of  hands  and  voices,  that  the  whole  house 
seemed  to  rock  with  it,  and  even  in  the  street  out 
side  they  say  the  noise  was  deafening. 

Alone  on  the  stage  stood  Nino,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
Hedwig  von  Lira  in  her  box.  I  think  that  she 
alone  of  all  that  multitude  made  no  sound,  but  only 
gripped  the  edge  of  the  balcony  hard  in  her  white 
hands,  and  leaned  far  forward  with  straining  eyes 
and  beating  heart  to  satisfy  her  wonder.  She  knew 
well  enough,  now,  that  there  was  no  mistake.  The 
humble  little  Professor  Cardegna,  who  had  pa 
tiently  explained  Dante  and  Leopardi  to  her  for 
months,  bowing  to  the  ground  in  her  presence,  and 
apologizing  when  he  corrected  her  mistakes,  as 
though  his  whole  life  was  to  be  devoted  to  teaching 
foreigners  his  language ;  the  decently  clad  young 
man,  who  was  always  pale,  and  sometimes  pathetic 
when  he  spoke  of  himself,  was  no  other  than  Gio 
vanni  Cardegna  the  tenor,  singing  aloud  to  earth 
and  heaven  with  his  glorious  great  voice  —  a  man 
on  the  threshold  of  a  European  fame,  such  as  falls 
only  to  the  lot  of  a  singer  or  a  conqueror.  More, 
he  was  the  singer  of  her  dreams,  who  had  for 
months  filled  her  thoughts  with  music  and  her 
heart  with  a  strange  longing,  being  until  now  a 
voice  only.  There  he  stood  looking  straight  at  her, 
—  she  was  not  mistaken,  —  as  though  to  say,  "  I 
have  done  it  for  you,  and  for  you  only."  A  woman 
must  be  more  than  marble  to  feel  no  pride  in  the 
intimate  knowledge  that  a  great  public  triumph  has 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  103 

been  gained  solely  for  her  sake.  She  must  be  colder 
than  ice  if  she  cannot  see  her  power  when  a  con 
queror  loves  her. 

The  marble  had  felt  the  fire,  and  the  ice  was  in 
the  flame  at  last.  Nino,  with  his  determination  to 
be  loved,  had  put  his  statue  into  a  very  fiery  furnace, 
and  in  the  young  innocence  of  his  heart  had  pre 
pared  such  a  surprise  for  his  lady  as  might  have 
turned  the  head  of  a  hardened  woman  of  the  world, 
let  alone  an  imaginative  German  girl,  with  a  taste 
for  romance  —  or  without ;  it  matters  little.  All 
Germans  are  full  of  imagination,  and  that  is  the 
reason  they  know  so  much.  For  they  not  only  know 
all  that  is  known  by  other  people,  but  also  all  that 
they  themselves  imagine,  which  nobody  else  can 
possibly  know.  And  if  you  do  not  believe  this,  you 
had  better  read  the  works  of  one  Fichte,  a  philos 
opher. 

I  need  not  tell  you  any  more  about  Nino's  first 
appearance.  It  was  one  of  those  really  phenom 
enal  successes  that  seem  to  cling  to  certain  people 
through  life.  He  was  very  happy  and  very  silent 
when  it  was  over  ;  and  we  were  the  last  to  leave  the 
theatre,  for  we  feared  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd. 
So  we  waited  till  every  one  had  gone,  and  then 
marched  home  together,  for  it  was  a  fine  night.  I 
walked  on  one  side  of  Nino,  and  De  Pretis  on  the 
other,  all  of  us  carrying  as  many  flowers  as  we 
could  ;  Mariuccia  came  behind,  with  the  cat  under 
her  shawl.  I  did  not  discover  until  we  reached 
home  why  she  had  brought  the  beast.  Then  she 


104  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

explained  that,  as  there  was  so  much  food  in  the 
kitchen,  in  anticipation  of  our  supper,  she  had 
been  afraid  to  leave  the  cat  alone  in  the  house,  lest 
we  should  find  nothing  left  to  eat  when  we  returned. 
This  was  sufficiently  prudent,  for  a  scatter-brained 
old  spendthrift  like  Mariuccia. 

That  was  a  merry  supper,  and  De  Pretis  became 
highly  dramatic  when  we  got  to  the  second  flask. 


VII. 

ON  the  day  following  Nino's  de"but,  Maestro 
Ercole  de  Pretis  found  himself  in  hot  water,  and 
the  choristers  at  St.  Peter's  noticed  that  his  skull 
cap  was  awry,  and  that  he  sang  out  of  tune ;  and 
once  he  tried  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  when  there 
was  only  three  bars'  rest  in  the  music,  so  that 
instead  of  singing  C  sharp  he  sneezed  very  loud. 
Then  all  the  other  singers  giggled,  and  said  "  Sa 
lute  !  "  —  which  we  always  say  to  a  person  who 
sneezes  —  quite  audibly. 

It  was  not  that  Ercole  had  heard  anything  from 
the  Graf  von  Lira  as  yet ;  but  he  expected  to  hear, 
and  did  not  relish  the  prospect.  Indeed,  how  could 
the  Prussian  gentleman  fail  to  resent  what  the 
maestro  had  done,  in  introducing  to  him  a  singer 
disguised  as  a  teacher  ?  It  chanced,  also,  that  the 
contessina  took  a  singing  lesson  that  very  day  in 
the  afternoon,  and  it  was  clear  that  the  reaping  of 
his  evil  deeds  was  not  far  off.  His  conscience  did 
not  trouble  him  at  all,  it  is  true,  for  I  have  told 
you  that  he  has  liberal  ideas  about  the  right  of 
marriage ;  but  his  vanity  was  sorely  afflicted  at  the 
idea  of  abandoning  such  a  very  noble  and  cred 
itable  pupil  as  the  Contessina  di  Lira.  He  .ap 
plauded  himself  for  furthering  Nino's  wild  schemes, 


106  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

and  he  blamed  himself  for  being  so  reckless  about 
his  own  interests.  Every  moment  he  expected  a 
formal  notice  from-  the  count  to  discontinue  the 
lessons.  But  still  it  did  not  come,  and  at  the 
appointed  hour  Ercole's  wife  helped  him  to  put 
on  his  thick  winter  coat,  and  wrapped  his  com 
forter  about  his  neck,  and  pulled  his  big  hat  over 
his  eyes,  —  for  the  weather  was  threatening,  — 
and  sent  him  trudging  off  to  the  Palazzo  Carman- 
dola. 

Though  Ercole  is  stout  of  heart,  and  has  broad 
shoulders  to  bear  such  burdens  as  fall  to  his  lot, 
he  lingered  long  on  the  way,  for  his  presentiments 
were  gloomy ;  and  at  the  great  door  of  the  palazzo 
he  even  stopped  to  inquire  of  the  porter  whether 
the  contessina  had  been  seen  to  go  out  yet,  half 
hoping  that  she  would  thus  save  him  the  mortifi 
cation  of  an  interview.  But  it  turned  out  other 
wise  :  the  contessina  was  at  home,  and  De  Pretis 
was  expected,  as  usual,  to  give  the  lesson.  Slowly 
he  climbed  the  great  staircase,  and  was  admitted. 

"  Good-day,  Sor  Maestro,"  said  the  liveried  foot 
man,  who  knew  him  well.  "  The  Signor  Conte 
desires  to  speak  with  you  to-day,  before  you  go 
to  the  signorina." 

The  maestro's  heart  sank,  and  he  gripped  hard 
the  roll  of  music  in  his  hand  as  he  followed  the 
servant  to  the  count's  cabinet.  There  was  to  be  a 
scene  of  explanation,  after  all. 

The  count  was  seated  in  his  great  arm-chair,  in  a 
cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  reading  a  Prussian  military 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  107 

journal.  His  stick  leaned  against  the  table  by  his 
side,  in  painfid  contrast  with  the  glittering  cavalry 
sabres  crossed  upon  the  dark  red  wall  opposite. 
The  tall  windows  looked  out  on  the  piazza,  and  it 
was  raining,  or  just  beginning  to  rain.  The  great 
inkstand  on  the  table  was  made  to  represent  a  how 
itzer,  and  the  count  looked  as  though  he  were  ready 
to  fire  it  point-blank  at  any  intruder.  There  was 
an  air  of  disciplined  luxury  in  the  room,  that  spoke 
of  a  rich  old  soldier  who  fed  his  fancy  with  titbits 
from  a  stirring  past.  De  Pretis  felt  very  uncom 
fortable,  but  the  nobleman  rose  to  greet  him,  as  he 
rose  to  greet  everything  above  the  rank  of  a  ser 
vant,  making  himself  steady  with  his  stick.  When 
De  Pretis  was  seated,  he  sat  down  also.  The  rain 
pattered  against  the  window. 

"  Signor  De  Pretis,"  began  the  count,  in  tones 
as  hard  as  chilled  steel,  "  you  are  an  honorable 
man."  There  was  something  interrogative  in  his 
voice. 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  the  maestro  modestly ; 
"  like  other  Christians,  I  have  a  soul "  — 

"  You  will  your  soul  take  care  of  in  your  leisure 
moments,"  interrupted  the  count.  "  At  present 
you  have  no  leisure." 

"  As  you  command,  Signor  Conte." 

"  I  was  yesterday  evening  at  the  theatre.  The 
professor  you  recommended  for  my  daughter  is 
with  the  new  tenor  one  person."  De  Pretis  spread 
out  his  hands  and  bowed,  as  if  to  deprecate  any 
share  in  the  transaction.  The  count  continued, 


108  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  You  are  of  the  profession,  Signor  De  Pretis. 
Evidently,  you  of  this  were  aware." 

"  It  is  true,"  assented  Ercole,  not  knowing  what 
to  say. 

"Of  course  it  is  true.  I  am  therefore  to  hear 
your  explanation  disposed."  His  gray  eyes  fas 
tened  sternly  on  the  maestro.  But  the  latter  was 
prepared,  for  he  had  long  foreseen  that  the  count 
would  one  day  be  disposed  to  hear  an  explanation, 
as  he  expressed  it. 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  repeated  De  Pretis.  "  The 
young  man  was  very  poor,  and  desired  to  support 
himself  while  he  was  studying  music.  lie  was 
well  fitted  to  teach  our  literature,  and  I  recom 
mended  him.  I  hope  that,  in  consideration  of  his 
poverty,  and  because  he  turned  out  a  very  good 
teacher,  you  will  forgive  me,  Signor  Conte." 

"This  talented  singer  I  greatly  applaud,"  an 
swered  the  count  stiffly.  "  As  a  with-the-capacity- 
and-learning-requisite-for-teaching-endowed  young 
man  deserves  he  also  some  commendation.  Also 
will  I  remember  his  laudable-and-not-lacking-inde- 
pendence  character.  Nevertheless,  unfitting  would 
it  be,  should  I  pay  the  first  tenor  of  the  opera  five 
francs  an  hour  to  teach  my  daughter  Italian  litera 
ture."  De  Pretis  breathed  more  freely. 

"Then  you  will  forgive  me,  Signor  Conte,  for 
endeavoring  to  promote  the  efforts  of  this  worthy 
young  man  in  supporting  himself  ?  " 

"  Signor  De  Pretis,"  said  the  count,  with  a  cer 
tain  quaint  geniality,  "  I  have  my  precautions  ob- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  109 

served.  I  examined  Signer  Cardegna  in  Italian 
literature  in  my  own  person,  and  him  proficient 
found.  Had  I  found  him  to  be  ignorant,  and  had 
I  his  talents  as  an  operatic  singer  later  discovered, 
I  would  you  out  of  that  window  have  projected." 
De  Pretis  was  alarmed,  for  the  old  count  looked  as 
though  he  would  have  carried  out  the  threat.  "  As 
it  is,"  he  concluded,  "  you  are  an  honorable  man, 
and  I  wish  you  good  -  morning.  Lady  Hedwig 
awaits  you,  as  usual."  He  rose  courteously,  lean 
ing  on  his  stick,  and  De  Pretis  'bowed  himself  out. 

He  expected  that  the  contessina  would  immedi 
ately  begin  talking  of  Nino,  but  he  was  mistaken ; 
she  never  once  referred  to  the  opera  or  the  singer, 
and  except  that  she  looked  pale  and  transparent, 
and  sang  with  a  trifle  less  interest  in  her  music 
than  usual,  there  was  nothing  noticeable  in  her 
manner.  Indeed,  she  had  every  reason  to  be 
silent. 

Early  that  morning  Nino  received  by  a  messenger 
a  pretty  little  note,  written  in  execrable  Italian, 
begging  him  to  come  and  breakfast  with  the  baron 
ess  at  twelve,  as  she  much  desired  to  speak  with 
him  after  his  stupendous  triumph  of  the  previous 
night. 

Nino  is  a  very  good  boy,  but  he  is  mortal,  and 
after  the  excitement  of  the  evening  he  thought 
nothing  could  be  pleasanter  than  to  spend  a  few 
hours  in  that  scented  boudoir,  among  the  palms 
and  the  beautiful  objects  and  the  perfumes,  talking 
with  a  woman  who  professed  herself  ready  to  help 


110  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

him  in  his  love  affair.  We  have  no  perfumes,  or 
cushions,  or  pretty  things  at  number  twenty-seven, 
Santa  Catarina  dei  Funari,  though  everything  is 
very  bright  and  neat  and  most  proper,  and  the  cat 
is  kept  in  the  kitchen,  for  the  most  part.  So  it  is 
no  wonder  that  he  should  have  preferred  to  spend 
the  morning  with  the  baroness. 

She  was  half  lying,  half  sitting,  in  a  deep  arm 
chair,  when  Nino  entered ;  and  she  was  reading  a 
book.  When  she  saw  him  she  dropped  the  volume 
on  her  knee,  and  looked  up  at  him  from  under  her 
lids,  without  speaking.  She  must  have  been  a  be 
witching  figure.  Nino  advanced  toward  her,  bow 
ing  low,  so  that  his  dark  curling  hair  shaded  his 
face. 

"  Good-day,  signora,"  said  he  softly,  as  though 
fearing  to  hurt  the  quiet  air.  "  I  trust  I  do  not 
interrupt  you  ?  " 

"  You  never  interrupt  me,  Nino,"  she  said,  "  ex 
cept  —  except  when  you  go  away." 

"  You  are  very  good,  signora." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  no  pretty  speeches,"  said 
she,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Nino,  seating  himself, 
"  that  it  was  you  who  made  the  pretty  speech,  and 
I  who  thanked  you  for  it."  There  was  a  pause. 

"  How  do  you  feel?  "  asked  the  baroness  at  last, 
turning  her  head  to  him. 

"  Grazie  —  I  am  well,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  mean  that,  —  you  are  always 
well.  But  how  do  you  enjoy  your  first  triumph  ?  " 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  Ill 

"I  think,"  said  Nino,  "that  a  real  artist  ought 
to  have  the  capacity  to  enjoy  a  success  at  the  mo 
ment,  and  the  good  sense  to  blame  his  vanity  for 
enjoying  it  after  it  is  passed." 

"  How  old  are  you,  Nino  ?  " 

"  Did  I  never  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked,  innocently. 
"  I  shall  be  twenty-one  soon." 

"  You  talk  as  though  you  were  forty,  at  least." 

"  Heaven  save  us !  "  quoth  Nino. 

"  But  really,  are  you  not  immensely  flattered  at 
the  reception  you  had  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  did  not  look  at  all  interested  in  the  public 
at  the  time,"  said  she,  "  and  that  Roman  nose  of 
yours  very  nearly  turned  up  in  disdain  of  the  ap 
plause,  I  thought.  I  wonder  what  you  were  think 
ing  of  all  the  while." 

"  Can  you  wonder,  baronessa  ?  "  She  knew  what 
he  meant,  and  there  was  a  little  look  of  annoyance 
in  her  face  when  she  answered. 

"  Ah,  well,  of  course  not,  since  she  was  there." 
Her  ladyship  rose,  and  taking  a  stick  of  Eastern 
pastil  from  a  majolica  dish  in  a  corner  made  Nino 
light  it  from  a  wax  taper. 

"  I  want  the  smell  of  the  sandal-wood  this  morn 
ing,"  said  she ;  "  I  have  a  headache."  She  was 
enchanting  to  look  at,  as  she  bent  her  softly-shaded 
face  over  the  flame  to  watch  the  burning  perfume. 
She  looked  like  a  beautiful  lithe  sorceress  making 
a  love  spell,  —  perhaps  for  her  own  use.  Nino 
turned  from  her.  He  did  not  like  to  allow  the  one 


112  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

image  he  loved  to  be  even  for  a  moment  disturbed 
by  the  one  he  loved  not,  however  beautiful.  She 
moved  away,  leaving  the  pastil  on  the  dish.  Sud 
denly  she  paused,  and  turned  back  to  look  at  him. 

"Why  did  you  come  to-day? "  she  asked. 

"  Because  you  desired  it,"  answered  Nino,  in 
some  astonishment. 

"You  need  not  have  come,"  she  said,  bending 
down  to  lean  on  the  back  of  a  silken  chair.  She 
folded  her  hands,  and  looked  at  him  as  he  stood 
not  three  paces  away.  "  Do  you  not  know  what 
has  happened?  "  she  asked,  with  a  smile  that  was 
a  little  sad. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  Nino,  simply.  He 
was  facing  the  entrance  to  the  room,  and  saw  the 
curtains  parted  by  the  servant.  The  baroness  had 
her  back  to  the  door,  and  did  not  hear. 

"Do  you  not  know,"  she  continued,  "that  you 
are  free  now  ?  Your  appearance  in  public  has  put 
an  end  to  it  all.  You  are  not  tied  to  me  any  longer, 
—  unless  you  wish  it." 

As  she  spoke  these  words  Nino  turned  white,  for 
under  the  heavy  curtain,  lifted  to  admit  her,  stood 
Hedwig  von  Lira,  like  a  statue,  transfixed  and  im 
movable  from  what  she  had  heard.  The  baroness 
noticed  Nino's  look,  and,  springing  back  to  her 
height  from  the  chair  on  which  she  had  been  lean 
ing,  faced  the  door. 

"  My  dearest  Hedwig ! "  she  cried,  with  a  mag 
nificent  readiness.  "  I  am  so  very  glad  you  have 
come.  I  did  not  expect  you  in  the  least.  Do  take 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  113 

off  your  hat,  and  stay  to  breakfast.  Ah,  forgive 
me :  this  is  Professor  Cardegna.  But  you  know 
him  ?  Yes ;  now  that  I  think,  we  all  went  to  the 
Pantheon  together."  Nino  bowed  low,  and  Hedwig 
bent  her  head. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  girl,  coldly.  "Professor 
Cardegna  gives  me  lessons." 

"  Why,  of  course  ;  how  bete  I  am !  I  was  just 
telling  him  that,  since  he  has  been  successful,  and 
is  enrolled  among  the  great  artists,  it  is  a  pity  he  is 
no  longer  tied  to  giving  Italian  lessons,  —  tied  to 
coming  here  three  times  a  week,  to  teach  me  litera 
ture."  Hedwig  smiled  a  strange,  icy  smile,  and 
sat  down  by  the  window.  Nino  was  still  utterly 
astonished,  but  he  would  not  allow  the  baroness's 
quibble  to  go  entirely  uncontradicted. 

"In  truth,"  he  said,  "the  Signora  Baronessa's 
lessons  consisted  chiefly"  — 

"  In  teaching  me  pronunciation,"  interrupted  the 
baroness,  trying  to  remove  Hedwig's  veil  and  hat, 
somewhat  against  the  girl's  inclination.  "  Yes,  you 
see  hew  it  is.  I  know  a  little  of  singing,  but  I 
cannot  pronounce,  —  not  in  the  least.  Ah,  these 
Italian  vowels  will  be  the  death  of  me !  But  if 
there  is  any  one  who  can  teach  a  poor  dilettante  to 
pronounce  them,"  she  added,  laying  the  hat  away 
on  a  chair,  and  pushing  a  footstool  to  Hedwig's 
feet,  "that  some  one  is  Signor  Cardegna." 

By  this  time  Nino  had  recognized  the  propriety 
of  temporizing ;  that  is  to  say,  of  letting  the  bar 
oness's  fib  pass  for  what  it  was  worth,  lest  the  dis- 


114  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

cussion  of  the  subject  should  further  offend  Hed- 
wig,  whose  eyes  wandered  irresolutely  toward  him, 
as  though  she  would  say  something  if  he  addressed 
her. 

"  I  hope,  signorina,"  he  said,  "  that  it  is  not 
quite  as  the  baroness  says.  I  trust  our  lessons 
are  not  at  an  end  ?  "  He  knew  very  well  that  they 
were. 

"  I  think,  Signer  Cardegna,"  said  Hedwig,  with 
more  courage  than  would  have  been  expected  from 
such  a  mere  child,  —  she  is  twenty,  but  Northern 
people  are  not  grown  up  till  they  are  thirty,  at 
least,  —  "I  think  it  would  have  been  more  obliging 
if,  when  I  asked  you  so  much  about  your  cousin, 
you  had  acknowledged  that  you  had  no  cousin,  and 
that  the  singer  was  none  other  than  yourself."  She 
blushed,  perhaps,  but  the  curtain  of  the  window 
hid  it. 

"  Alas,  signorina,"  answered  Nino,  still  standing 
before  her,  "  such  a  confession  would  have  deprived 
me  of  the  pleasure  —  of  the  honor  of  giving  you 
lessons." 

"And  pray,  Signor  Cardegna,"  put  in  the  bar 
oness,  "  what  are  a  few  paltry  lessons,  compared 
with  the  pleasure  you  ought  to  have  experienced 
in  satisfying  the  Contessina  di  Lira's  curiosity? 
Really,  you  have  little  courtesy." 

Nino  shrank  into  himself,  as  though  he  were 
hurt,  and  he  gave  the  baroness  a  look  which  said 
worlds.  She  smiled  at  him,  in  joy  of  her  small  tri 
umph,  for  Hedwig  was  looking  at  the  floor  again, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  115 

and  could  not  see.  But  the  young  girl  had  strength 
in  her,  for  all  her  cold  looks  and  white  cheek. 

"You  can  atone,  Signor  Cardegna,"  she  said. 
Nino's  face  brightened. 

"  How,  signoriua  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  By  singing  to  us  now,"  said  Hedwig.  The 
baroness  looked  grave,  for  she  well  knew  what  a 
power  Nino  wielded  with  his  music. 

"  Do  not  ask  him,"  she  protested.  "  He  must  be 
tired,  —  tired  to  death,  with  all  he  went  through 
last  night." 

"  Tired  ?  "  ejaculated  Nino,  with  some  surprise. 
"  I  tired?  I  was  never  tired  in  my  life,  of  singing. 
I  will  sing  as  long  as  you  will  listen."  He  went  to 
the  piano.  As  he  turned,  the  baroness  laid  her 
hand  on  Hedwig's,  affectionately,  as  though  sympa 
thizing  with  something  she  supposed  to  be  passing 
in  the  girl's  mind.  But  Hedwig  was  passive,  un 
less  a  little  shudder  at  the  first  touch  of  the  baron 
ess's  fingers  might  pass  for  a  manifestation  of  feel 
ing.  Hedwig  had  hitherto  liked  the  baroness, 
finding  in  her  a  woman  of  a  certain  artistic  sense, 
combined  with  a  certain  originality.  The  girl  was 
an  absolute  contrast  to  the  woman,  and  admired  in 
her  the  qualities  she  thought  lacking  in  herself, 
though  she  possessed  too  much  self-respect  to  attempt 
to  acquire  them  by  imitation.  Hedwig  sat  like  a 
Scandinavian  fairy  princess  on  the  summit  of  a  glass 
hill;  her  friend  roamed  through  life  like  a  beau 
tiful  soft-footed  wild  animal,  rejoicing  in  the  sense 
of  being,  and  sometimes  indulging  in  a  little  play- 


116  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

ful  destruction  by  the  way.  The  girl  had  heard  a 
voice  in  the  dark,  singing,  and  ever  since  then  she 
had  dreamed  of  the  singer ;  but  it  never  entered 
her  mind  to  confide  to  the  baroness  her  strange 
fancies.  An  undisciplined  imagination,  securely 
shielded  from  all  outward  disturbing  causes,  will 
do  much  with  a  voice  in  the  dark,  —  a  great  deal 
more  than  such  a  woman  as  the  baroness  might  im 
agine. 

I  do  not  know  enough  about  these  blue-eyed 
German  girls  to  say  whether  or  not  Hedwig  had 
ever  before  thought  of  her  unknown  singer  as  an 
unknown  lover.  But  the  emotions  of  the  previous 
night  had  shaken  her  nerves  a  little,  and  had  she 
been  older  than  she  was  she  would  have  known 
that  she  loved  her  singer,  in  a  distant  and  maidenly 
fashion,  as  soon  as  she  heard  the  baroness  speak  of 
him  as  having  been  her  property.  And  now  she 
was  angry  with  herself,  and  ashamed  of  feeling  any 
interest  in  a  man  who  was  evidently  tied  to  another 
woman  by  some  intrigue  she  could  not  comprehend. 
Her  coming  to  visit  the  baroness  had  been  as  unpre 
meditated  as  it  was  unexpected,  that  morning,  and 
she  bitterly  repented  it ;  but  being  of  good  blood 
and  heart,  she  acted  as  boldly  as  she  could,  and 
showed  no  little  tact  in  making  Nino  sing,  and  thus 
cutting  short  a  painful  conversation.  Only  when 
the  baroness  tried  to  caress  her  and  stroke  her  hand 
she  shrank  away,  and  the  blood  mantled  up  to  her 
cheeks.  Add  to  all  this  the  womanly  indignation 
she  felt  at  having  been  so  long  deceived  by  Nino, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  117 

and  you  will  see  that  she  was  in  a  very  vacillating 
frame  of  mind. 

The  baroness  was  a  subtle  woman,  reckless  and 
diplomatic  by  turns,  and  she  was  not  blind  to  the 
sudden  repulse  she  met  with  from  Hedwig,  un 
spoken  though  it  was.  But  she  merely  withdrew 
her  hand,  and  sat  thinking  over  the  situation. 
What  she  thought,  no  one  knows ;  or,  at  least,  we 
can  only  guess  it  from  what  she  did  afterwards. 
As  for  me,  I  have  never  blamed  her  at  all,  for  she 
is  the  kind  of  woman  I  should  have  loved.  In  the 
mean  time  Nino  caroled  out  one  love  song  after  an 
other.  He  saw,  however,  that  the  situation  was 
untenable,  and  after  a  while  he  rose  to  go.  Strange 
to  say,  although  the  baroness  had  asked  Nino  to 
breakfast,  and  the  hour  was  now  at  hand,  she  made 
no  effort  to  retain  him.  But  she  gave  him  her 
hand,  and  said  many  flattering  and  pleasing  things, 
which,  however,  neither  flattered  nor  pleased  him. 
As  for  Hedwig,  she  bent  her  head  a  little,  but  said 
nothing,  as  he  bowed  before  her.  Nino  therefore 
went  home  with  a  heavy  heart,  longing  to  explain 
to  Hedwig  why  he  had  been  tied  to  the  baroness,  — 
that  it  was  the  price  of  her  silence  and  of  the  privi 
lege  he  had  enjoyed  of  giving  lessons  to  the  contes- 
sina ;  but  knowing,  also,  that  all  explanation  was 
out  of  the  question  for  the  present.  When  he  was 
gone,  Hedwig  and  the  baroness  were  left  together. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  surprise  to  you,  my 
dear,"  said  the  elder  lady  kindly. 

"What?" 


118  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  That  your  little  professor  should  turn  out  a 
great  artist  in  disguise.  It  was  a  surprise  to  me, 
too,  —  ah,  another  illusion  destroyed.  Dear  child ! 
You  have  still  so  many  illusions,  —  beautiful,  pure 
illusions.  Dieu  !  how  I  envy  you  !  "  They  gener 
ally  talked  French  together,  though  the  baroness 
knows  German.  Hedwig  laughed  bravely. 

"  I  was  certainly  astonished,"  she  said.  "  Poor 
man  !  I  suppose  he  did  it  to  support  himself.  He 
never  told  me  he  gave  you  lessons,  too."  The  bar 
oness  smiled,  but  it  was  from  genuine  satisfaction 
this  time. 

"  I  wonder  at  that,  since  he  knew  we  were  inti 
mate,  or,  at  least,  that  we  were  acquainted.  Of 
course  I  would  not  speak  of  it  last  night,  because  I 
saw  your  father  was  angry." 

"  Yes,  he  was  angry.  I  suppose  it  was  natural," 
said  Hedwig. 

"  Perfectly  natural.  And  you,  my  dear,  were 
you  not  angry  too,  —  just  a  little  ?  " 

"  I  ?  No.  Why  should  I  be  angry  ?  He  was 
a  very  good  teacher,  for  he  knows  whole  volumes 
by  heart ;  and  he  understands  them,  too." 

Soon  they  talked  of  other  things,  and  the  bar 
oness  was  very  affectionate.  But  though  Hedwig 
saw  that  her  friend  was  kind  and  most  friendly, 
she  could  not  forget  the  words  that  were  in  the  air 
when  she  chanced  to  enter,  nor  could  she  quite  ac 
cept  the  plausible  explanation  of  them  which  the 
baroness  had  so  readily  invented.  For  jealousy  is 
the  forerunner  of  love,  and  sometimes  its  awakener. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  119 

She  felt  a  rival  and  an  enemy,  and  all  the  hered 
itary  combativeness  of  her  Northern  blood  was 
roused. 

Nino,  who  was  in  no  small  perplexity,  reflected. 
He  was  not  old  enough  or  observant  enough  to  have 
seen  the  breach  that  was  about  to  be  created  be 
tween  the  baroness  and  Hedwig.  His  only  thought 
was  to  clear  himself  in  Hedwig's  eyes  from  the  im 
putation  of  having  been  tied  to  the  dark  woman  in 
any  way  save  for  his  love's  sake.  He  at  once  be 
gan  to  hate  the  baroness  with  all  the  ferocity  of 
which  his  heart  was  capable,  and  with  all  the  calm 
his  bold,  square  face  outwardly  expressed.  But  he 
was  forced  to  take  some  action  at  once,  and  he 
could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  consult 
De  Pretis. 

To  the  maestro  he  poured  out  his  woes  and  his 
plans.  He  exhibited  to  him  his  position  toward  the 
baroness  and  toward  Hedwig  in  the  clearest  light. 
He  conjured  him  to  go  to  Hedwig,  and  explain  that 
the  baroness  had  threatened  to  unmask  him,  and 
thus  deprive  him  of  his  means  of  support,  —  he 
dared  not  put  it  otherwise,  —  unless  he  consented 
to  sing  for  her  and  come  to  her  as  often  as  she 
pleased.  To  explain,  to  propitiate,  to  smooth,  — 
in  a  word,  to  reinstate  Nino  in  her  good  opinion. 

"  Death  of  a  dog  !  "  exclaimed  De  Pretis ;  "you 
do  not  ask  much !  After  you  have  allowed  your 
lady-love,  your  innamorata,  to  catch  you  saying 
you  are  bound  body  and  soul  to  another  woman,  — 
and  such  a  woman !  ye  saints,  what  a  beauty !  — 


120  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

you  ask  me  to  go  and  set  matters  right !  What 
the  diavolo  did  you  want  to  go  and  poke  your  nose 
into  such  a  mousetrap  for  ?  Via !  I  am  a  fool  to 
have  helped  you  at  all." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Nino  calmly.  "  But  mean 
while  there  are  two  of  us,  and  perhaps  I  am  the 
greater.  You  will  do  what  I  ask,  maestro  ;  is  it 
not  true  ?  And  it  was  not  I  who  said  it ;  it  was 
the  baroness." 

"  The  baroness  —  yes  —  and  may  the  maledic 
tions  of  the  inferno  overtake  her,"  said  De  Pretis, 
casting  up  his  eyes  and  feeling  in  his  coat-tail 
pockets  for  his  snuff-box.  Once,  when  Nino  was 
younger,  he  filled  Ercole's  snuff-box  with  soot  and 
pepper,  so  that  the  maestro  had  a  black  nose  and 
sneezed  all  day. 

What  could  Ercole  do  ?  It  was  true  that  he  had 
hitherto  helped  Nino.  Was  he  not  bound  to  con 
tinue  that  assistance  ?  I  suppose  so ;  but  if  the 
whole  affair  had  ended  then,  and  this  story  with  it, 
I  would  not  have  cared  a  button.  Do  you  suppose 
it  amuses  me  to  tell  you  this  tale  ?  Or  that  if  it 
were  not  for  Nino's  good  name  I  would  ever  have 
turned  myself  into  a  common  story-teller  ?  Bah  ! 
you  do  not  know  me.  A  page  of  quaternions  gives 
me  more  pleasure  than  all  this  rubbish  put  to 
gether,  though  I  am  not  averse  to  a  little  gossip 
now  and  then,  of  an  evening,  if  people  will  listea 
to  my  details  and  fancies.  But  those  are  just  the 
things  people  will  not  listen  to.  Everybody  wants 
sensation  nowadays.  What  is  a  sensation  compared 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  121 

with  a  thought  ?  What  is  the  convulsive  gesticula 
tion  of  a  dead  frog's  leg  compared  with  the  intel 
lect  of  the  man  who  invented  the  galvanic  battery, 
and  thus  gave  fictitious  sensation  to  all  the  count 
less  generations  of  dead  frogs'  legs  that  have  since 
been  the  objects  of  experiment  ?  Or  if  you  come 
down  to  so  poor  a  thing  as  mere  feeling,  what  are 
your  feelings  in  reading  about  Nino's  deeds  com 
pared  with  what  he  felt  in  doing  them  ?  I  am  not 
taking  all  this  trouble  to  please  you,  but  only  for 
Nino's  sake,  who  is  my  dear  boy.  You  are  of  no 
more  interest  or  importance  to  me  than  if  you  were 
so  many  dead  frogs  ;  and  if  I  galvanize  your  sen 
sations,  as  you  call  them,  into  an  activity  sufficient 
to  make  you  cry  or  laugh,  that  is  my  own  affair. 
You  need  not  say  "  thank  you  "  to  me.  I  do  not 
want  it.  Ercole  will  thank  you,  and  perhaps  Nino 
will  thank  me,  but  that  is  different. 

I  will  not  tell  you  about  the  interview  that  Ercole 
had  with  Hedwig,  nor  how  skillfully  he  rolled  up 
his  eyes  and  looked  pathetic  when  he  spoke  of 
Nino's  poverty,  and  of  the  fine  part  he  had  played 
in  the  whole  business.  Hedwig  is  a  woman,  and  the 
principal  satisfaction  she  gathered  from  Ercole's 
explanation  was  the  knowledge  that  her  friend  the 
baroness  had  lied  to  her  in  explaining  those  strange 
words  she  had  overheard.  She  knew  it,  of  course, 
by  instinct ;  but  it  was  a  great  relief  to  be  told  the 
fact  by  some  one  else,  as  it  always  is,  even  when 
one  is  not  a  woman. 


VIII. 

SEVERAL  days  passed  after  the  debut  without 
giving  Nino  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Hedwig. 
He  probably  saw  her,  for  he  mingled  in  the  crowd 
of  dandies  in  the  Piazza  Colonna  of  an  afternoon, 
hoping  she  would  pass  in  her  carriage  and  give  him 
a  look.  Perhaps  she  did  ;  he  said  nothing  about 
it,  but  looked  calm  when  he  was  silent  and  savage 
when  he  spoke,  after  the  manner  of  passionate  peo 
ple.  His  face  aged  and  grew  stern  in  those  few 
days,  so  that  he  seemed  to  change  on  a  sudden 
from  boy  to  man.  But  he  went  about  his  business, 
and  sang  at  the  theatre  when  he  was  obliged  to; 
gathering  courage  to  do  his  best  and  to  display  his 
powers  from  the  constant  success  he  had.  The  pa 
pers  were  full  of  his  praises,  saying  that  he  was 
absolutely  without  rival  from  the  very  first  night 
he  sang,  matchless  and  supreme  from  the  moment 
he  first  opened  his  mouth,  and  all  that  kind  of  non 
sense.  I  dare  say  he  is  now,  but  he  could  not  have 
been  really  the  greatest  singer  living,  so  soon.  How 
ever,  he  used  to  bring  me  the  newspapers  that  had 
notices  of  him,  though  he  never  appeared  to  care 
much  for  them,  nor  did  he  ever  keep  them  himself. 
He  said  he  hankered  for  an  ideal  which  he  would 
never  attain ;  and  I  told  him  that  if  he  was  never 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  123 

to  attain  it  he  had  better  abandon  the  pursuit  of  it 
at  once.  But  he  represented  to  me  that  the  ideal 
was  confined  to  his  imagination,  whereas  the  realt 
ity  had  a  great  financial  importance,  since  he  daily 
received  offers  from  foreign  managers  to  sing  for 
them,  at  large  advantage  to  himself,  and  was  hesi 
tating  only  in  order  to  choose  the  most  convenient. 
This  seemed  sensible,  and  I  was  silent.  Soon  af 
terwards  he  presented  me  with  a  box  of  cigars  and 
a  very  pretty  amber  mouthpiece.  The  cigars  were 
real  Havanas,  such  as  I  had  not  smoked  for  years, 
and  must  have  cost  a  great  deal. 

"  You  may  not  be  aware,  Sor  Cornelio,"  he  said 
one  evening,  as  he  mixed  the  oil  and  vinegar  with 
the  salad,  at  supper,  "  that  I  am  now  a  rich  man, 
or  soon  shall  be.  An  agent  from  the  London  opera 
has  offered  me  twenty  thousand  francs  for  the  sea 
son  in  London,  this  spring." 

"  Twenty  thousand  francs  !  "  I  cried  in  amaze 
ment.  "  You  must  be  dreaming,  Nino.  That  is 
just  about  seven  times  what  I  earn  in  a  year  with 
my  professorship  and  my  writing." 

"  No  dreams,  caro  mio.  I  have  the  offer  in  my 
pocket."  He  apparently  cared  no  more  about  it 
than  if  he  had  twenty  thousand  roasted  chestnuts 
in  his  pocket. 

"  When  do  you  leave  us  ?  "  I  asked,  when  I  was 
somewhat  recovered. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  will  go,"  he  answered, 
sprinkling  some  pepper  on  his  lettuce. 

"  Not  sure !  Body  of  Diana,  what  a  fool  you 
are  !  " 


124  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  and  he  passed  me  the  dish. 
Just  then,  Mariuccia  came  in  with  a  bottle  of  wine, 
and  we  said  no  more  about  it ;  for  Mariuccia  is 
indiscreet. 

Nino  thought  nothing  about  his  riches,  because 
he  was  racking  his  brains  for  some  good  expedient 
whereby  he  might  see  the  contessina  and  speak  with 
her.  He  had  ascertained  from  De  Pretis  that  the 
count  was  not  so  angry  as  he  had  expected,  and 
that  Hedwig  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  explana 
tions  of  the  maestro.  The  day  after  the  foregoing 
conversation  he  wrote  a  note  to  her,  wherein  he  said 
that  if  the  Contessina  di  Lira  would  deign  to  be 
awake  at  midnight  that  evening  she  would  have  a 
serenade  from  a  voice  she  was  said  to  admire.  He 
bid  Mariuccia  carry  the  letter  to  the  Palazzo  Car- 
mandola. 

At  half  past  eleven,  at  least  two  hours  after  sup 
per,  Nino  wrapped  himself  in  my  old  cloak,  and 
took  the  guitar  under  his  arm.  Rome  is  not  a  very 
safe  place  for  midnight  pranks,  and  so  I  made  him 
take  a  good  knife  in  his  waist-belt ;  for  he  had  con 
fided  to  me  where  he  was  going.  I  tried  to  dissuade 
him  from  the  plan,  saying  he  might  catch  cold ;  but 
he  laughed  at  me. 

A  serenade  is  an  every-day  affair,  and  in  the 
street  one  voice  sounds  about  as  well  as  another. 
He  reached  the  palace,  and  his  heart  sank  when  he 
saw  Hedwig's  window  dark  and  gloomy.  He  did 
not  know  that  she  was  seated  behind  it  in  a  deep 
chair,  wrapped  in  white  things,  and  listening  for 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  125 

him  against  the  beatings  of  her  heart.  The  large 
moon  seemed  to  be  spiked  on  the  sharp  spire  of  the 
church  that  is  near  her  house,  and  the  black  shad 
ows  cut  the  white  light  as  clean  as  with  a  knife. 
Nino  had  tuned  his  guitar  in  the  other  street,  and 
stood  ready,  waiting  for  the  clocks  to  strike.  Pres 
ently  they  clanged  out  wildly,  as  though  they  had 
been  waked  from  their  midnight  sleep,  and  were 
angry  ;  one  clock  answering  the  other,  and  one  con 
vent  bell  following  another  in  the  call  to  prayers. 
For  two  full  minutes  the  whole  air  was  crazy  with 
ringing,  and  then  it  was  all  still.  Nino  struck  a 
single  chord.  Hedwig  almost  thought  he  might 
hear  her  heart  beating  all  the  way  down  in  the 
street. 

"  Ah,  del  mio  dolce  ardor  bramato  ogetto,"  he 
sang,  —  an  old  air  in  one  of  Gluck's  operas,  that 
our  Italian  musicians  say  was  composed  by  Ales- 
sandro  Stradella,  the  poor  murdered  singer.  It 
must  be  a  very  good  air,  for  it  pleases  me  ;  and  I 
am  not  easily  pleased  with  music  of  any  kind.  As 
for  Hedwig,  she  pressed  her  ear  to  the  glass  of  the 
window  that  she  might  not  lose  any  note.  But  she 
would  not  open  nor  give  any  sign.  Nino  was  not 
so  easily  discouraged,  for  he  remembered  that  once 
before  she  had  opened  her  window  for  a  few  bars 
he  had  begun  to  sing.  He  played  a  few  chords, 
and  breathed  out  the  "  Salve,  dimora  casta  e  pura," 
from  Faust,  high  and  soft  and  clear.  There  is  a 
point  in  that  song,  near  to  the  end,  where  the  words 
say,  "  Reveal  to  me  the  maiden,"  and  where  the 


126  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

music  goes  away  to  the  highest  note  that  any  one 
can  possibly  sing.  It  alwaj^s  appears  quite  easy 
for  Nino,  and  he  does  not  squeak  like  a  dying  pig, 
as  all  the  other  tenors  do  on  that  note.  He  was 
looking  up  as  he  sang  it,  wondering  whether  it 
would  have  any  effect.  Apparently  Hedwig  lost 
her  head  completely,  for  she  gently  opened  the  case 
ment  and  looked  out  at  the  moonlight  opposite, 
over  the  carved  stone  mullions  of  her  window.  The 
song  ended,  he  hesitated  whether  to  go  or  to  sing 
again.  She  was  evidently  looking  towards  him ; 
but  he  was  in  the  light,  for  the  moon  has  risen 
higher,  and  she,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
was  in  the  dark. 

"  Signorina  !  "  he  called  softly.  No  answer. 
"  Signorina !  "  he  said  again,  coming  across  the 
empty  street  and  standing  under  the  window,  which 
might  have  been  thirty  feet  from  the  ground. 

"  Hush !  "  came  a  whisper  from  above. 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  soul  for  listening  to 
me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  am  innocent  of 
that  of  which  you  suspect  me.  I  love  you,  ah,  I 
love  you  !  "  But  at  this  she  left  the  window  very 
quickly.  She  did  not  close  it,  however,  and  Nino 
stood  long,  straining  his  eyes  for  a  glimpse  of  the 
white  face  that  had  been  there.  He  sighed,  and 
striking  a  chord  sang  out  boldly  the  old  air  from 
the  Trovatore,  "Ah,  che  la  morte  ognora  e  tarda 
nel  venir."  Every  blind  fiddler  in  the  streets  plays 
it,  though  he  would  be  sufficiently  scared  if  death 
came  any  the  quicker  for  his  fiddling.  But  old  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  127 

worn  as  it  is,  it  has  a  strain  of  passion  in  it,  and 
Nino  threw  more  fire  and  voice  into  the  ring  of  it 
than  ever  did  famous  old  Boccarde,  when  he  sang 
it  at  the  first  performance  of  the  opera,  thirty,  and 
odd  years  ago.  As  he  played  the  chords  after  the 
first  strophe,  the  voice  from  above  whispered  again  : 

"  Hush,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  Just  that,  and 
something  fell  at  his  feet,  with  a  soft  little  padded 
sound  on  the  pavement.  He  stooped  to  pick  it  up, 
and  found  a  single  rose  ;  and  at  that  instant  the 
window  closed  sharply.  Therefore  he  kissed  the 
rose  and  hid  it,  and  presently  he  strode  down  the 
street,  finishing  his  song  as  lie  went,  but  only  hum 
ming  it,  for  the  joy  had  taken  his  voice  away.  I 
heard  him  let  himself  in  and  go  to  bed,  and  he 
told  me  about  it  in  the  morning.  That  is  how  I 
know. 

Since  the  day  after  the  de*but  Nino  had  not  seen 
the  baroness.  He  did  not  speak  of  her,  and  I  am 
sure  he  wished  she  were  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
Tiber.  But  on  the  morning  after  the  serenade  he 
received  a  note  from  her,  which  was  so  full  of  pro 
testations  of  friendship  and  so  delicately  couched 
that  he  looked  grave,  and  reflected  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  be  courteous,  and  to  answer  such  a  call  as 
that.  She  begged  him  earnestly  to  come  at  one 
o'clock  ;  she  was  suffering  from  headache,  she  said, 
and  was  very  weak.  Had  Nino  loved  Hedwig  a 
whit  the  less,  he  would  not  have  gone.  But  he  felt 
himself  strong  enough  to  face  anything  and  every 
thing,  and"  therefore  he  determined  to  go. 


128  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

.  He  found  her,  indeed,  with  the  manner  of  a  per 
son  who  is  ill,  but  not  with  the  appearance.  She 
was  lying  on  a  huge  couch,  pushed  to  the  fireside, 
and  there  were  furs  about  her.  A  striped  scarf  of 
rich  Eastern  silk  was  round  her  throat,  and  she 
held  in  her  hand  a  new  novel,  of  which  she  care 
lessly  cut  the  pages  with  a  broad-hafted  Persian 
knife.  But  there  was  color  in  her  dark  cheek,  and 
a  sort  of  angry  fire  in  her  eyes.  Nino  thought  the 
clean  steel  in  her  hand  looked  as  though  it  might 
be  used  for  something  besides  cutting  leaves,  if  the 
fancy  took  her. 

"  So  at  last  you  have  honored  me  with  a  visit, 
signore,"  she  said,  not  desisting  from  her  occupa 
tion.  Nino  came  to  her,  and  she  put  out  her  hand. 
He  touched  it,  but  could  not  bear  to  hold  it,  for  it 
burned  him. 

"  You  used  to  honor  my  hand  differently  from 
that,"  she  half  whispered.  Nino  sat  himself  down 
a  little  way  from  her,  blushing  slightly.  It  was 
not  at  what  she  had  said,  but  at  the  thought  that 
he  should  ever  have  kissed  her  fingers. 

"  Signora,"  he  replied,  "  there  are  customs,  chiv 
alrous  and  gentle  in  themselves,  and  worthy  for 
all  men  to  practice.  But  from  the  moment  a 
custom  begins  to  mean  what  it  should  not,  it  ought 
to  be  abandoned.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  no 
longer  kiss  your  hand." 

"  How  cold  you  are  !  —  how  formal !  What 
should  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  to  say  too  little  than  too  much,"  he 
answered. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  129 

"  Bali ! "  slie  cried,  with  a  bitter  little  laugh. 
"  Words  are  silver,  but  silence  —  is  very  often 
nothing  but  silver-plated  brass.  Put  a  little  more 
wood  011  the  fire ;  you  make  me  cold."  Nino 
obeyed. 

"  How  literal  you  are !  "  said  the  baroness  petu 
lantly.  "  There  is  fire  enough,  on  the  hearth." 

"  Apparently,  signora,  you  are  pleased  to  be 
enigmatical,"  said  Nino. 

"  I  will  be  pleased  to  be  anything  I  please,"  she 
answered,  and  looked  at  him  rather  fiercely.  "  I 
wanted  you  to  drive  away  my  headache,  and  you 
only  make  it  worse." 

"  I  am  sorry,  signora.  I  will  leave  you  at  once. 
Permit  me  to  wish  you  a  very  good-morning."  He 
took  his  hat  and  went  towards  the  door.  Before 
he  reached  the  heavy  curtain,  she  was  at  his  side 
with  a  rush  like  a  falcon  on  the  wing,  her  eyes 
burning  darkly  between  anger  and  love. 

"  Nino  !  "  She  laid  hold  of  his  arm,  and  looked 
into  his  face. 

"  Signora,"  he  protested  coldly,  and  drew  back. 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  so  ?  " 

"  As  you  wish,  signora.     I  desire  to  oblige  you." 

"  Oh,  how  cold  you  are  !  "  she  cried,  leaving  his 
arm,  and  sinking  into  a  chair  by  the  door,  while  he 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  curtain.  She  hid  her 
eyes.  "  Nino,  Nino  !  You  will  break  my  heart !  " 
she  sobbed;  and  a  tear,  perhaps  more  of  anger  than 
of  sorrow,  burst  through  her  fingers,  and  coursed 
down  her  cheek. 


130  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Few  men  can  bear  to  see  a  woman  slied  tears. 
Nino's  nature  rose  up  in  his  throat,  and  bade  him 
console  her.  But  between  him  and  her  was  a  fair, 
bright  image  that  forbade  him  to  move  hand  or 
foot. 

"  Signora,"  he  said,  with  all  the  calm  he  could 
command,  "if  I  were  conscious  of  having  by  word 
or  deed  of  mine  given  you  cause  to  speak  thus,  I 
would  humbly  implore  your  forgiveness.  But  my 
heart  does  not  accuse  me.  I  beg  you  to  allow  me 
to  take  leave  of  you.  I  will  go  away,  and  you  shall 
have  no  further  cause  to  think  of  me."  He  moved 
again,  and  lifted  the  curtain.  But  she  was  like  a 
panther,  so  quick  and  beautiful.  Ah,  how  I  could 
have  loved  that  woman !  She  held  him,  and  would 
not  let  him  go,  her  smooth  fingers  fastening  round 
his  wrists  like  springs. 

"  Please  to  let  me  go,"  he  said  between  his  teeth, 
with  rising  anger. 

"  No !  I  will  not  let  you !  "  she  cried  fiercely, 
tightening  her  grasp  on  him.  Then  the  angry  fire 
in  her  tearful  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  melt  into  a 
soft  flame,  and  the  color  came  faster  to  her  cheeks. 
"  Ah,  how  can  you  let  me  so  disgrace  myself !  how 
can  you  see  me  fallen  so  low  as  to  use  the  strength 
of  my  hands,  and  yet  have  no  pity !  Nino,  Nino, 
do  not  kill  me  !  " 

"  Indeed,  it  would  be  the  better  for  you  if  I 
should,"  he  answered  bitterly,  but  without  attempt 
ing  to  free  his  wrists  from  her  strong,  soft  grip. 

"  But   you  will,"    she   murmured   passionately. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  131 

"  You  are  killing  me  by  leaving  me.  Can  you  not 
see  it  ?  "  Her  voice  melted  away  in  the  tearful  ca 
dence.  But  Nino  stood  gazing  at  her  as  stonily  as 
though  he  were  the  Sphinx.  How  could  he  have 
the  heart  ?  I  cannot  tell.  Long  she  looked  into 
his  eyes,  silently ;  but  she  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  animate  a  piece  of  iron,  so  stern  and  hard  he  was. 
Suddenly,  with  a  strong,  convulsive  movement,  she 
flung  his  hands  from  her. 

"  Go !  "  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  Go  to  that  wax 
doll  you  love,  and  see  whether  she  will  love  you,  or 
care  whether  you  leave  her  or  not !  Go,  go,  go  ! 
Go  to  her  !  "  She  had  sprung  far  back  from  him, 
and  now  pointed  to  the  door,  drawn  to  her  full 
height  and  blazing  in  her  wrath. 

"I  would  advise  you,  madam,  to  speak  with 
proper  respect  of  any  lady  with  whom  you  choose 
to  couple  my  name."  His  lips  opened  and  shut 
mechanically,  and  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Respect !  "  She  laughed  wildly.  "  Respect  for  a 
mere  child  whom  you  happen  to  fancy !  Respect, 
indeed,  for  anything  you  choose  to  do  !  I  —  I  — 
respect  Hedwig  von  Lira  ?  Ha !  ha !  "  and  she 
rested  her  hand  on  the  table  behind  her,  as  she 
laughed. 

"  Be  silent,  madam,"  said  Nino,  and  he  moved  a 
step  nearer,  and  stood  with  folded  arms. 

"  Ah !  You  would  silence  me  now,  would  you  ? 
You  would  rather  not  hear  me  speak  of  your  mid 
night  serenades,  and  your  sweet  letters  dropped 
from  the  window  of  her  room,  at  your  feet  ?  "  But 


132  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

her  rage  overturned  itself,  and  with  a  strange  cry 
she  fell  into  a  deep  chair,  and  wept  bitterly,  bury 
ing  her  face  in  her  two  hands.  "  Miserable  woman 
that  I  am !  "  she  sobbed,  and  her  whole  lithe  body 
was  convulsed. 

"You  are  indeed,"  said  Nino,  and  he  turned 
once  more  to  go.  But  as  he  turned,  the  servant 
threw  back  the  curtain. 

"  The  Signor  Conte  di  Lira,"  he  announced  in 
distinct  tones.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead 
silence,  during  which,  in  spite  of  his  astonishment 
at  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  count,  Nino  had 
time  to  reflect  that  the  baroness  had  caused  him  to 
be  watched  during  the  previous  night.  It  might 
well  be,  and  the  mistake  she  made  in  supposing  the 
thing  Hedwig  had  dropped  to  be  a  letter  told  him 
that  her  spy  had  not  ventured  very  near. 

The  tall  count  came  forward  under  the  raised 
curtains,  limping  and  helping  himself  with  his  stick. 
His  face  was  as  gray  and  wooden  as  ever,  but  his 
mustaches  had  an  irritated,  crimped  look,  that  Nino 
did  not  like.  The  count  barely  nodded  to  the 
young  man,  as  he  stood  aside  to  let  the  old  gentle 
man  pass  ;  his  eyes  turned  mechanically  to  where 
the  baroness  sat.  She  was  a  woman  who  had  no 
need  to  simulate  passion  in  any  shape,  and  it  must 
have  cost  her  a  terrible  effort  to  control  the  parox 
ysm  of  anger  and  shame  and  grief  that  had  over 
come  her.  There  was  something  unnatural  and 
terrifying  in  her  sudden  calm,  as  she  forced  herself 
to  rise  and  greet  her  visitor. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  133 

"  I  fear  I  come  out  of  season,"  lie  said,  apologet 
ically,  as  he  bent  over  her  hand. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  forgive 
me  if  I  speak  one  word  to  Professor  Cardegna." 
.She  went  to  where  Nino  was  standing. 
j  "  Go  into  that  room,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low 
voice,  glancing  towards  a  curtained  door  opposite 
the  windows,  "  and  wait  till  he  goes.  You  may 
listen  if  you  choose."  She  spoke  authoritatively. 

"  I  will  not,"  answered  Nino,  in  a  determined 
whisper. 

"  You  will  not  ?  ''  Her  eyes  flashed  again.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"  Count  von  Lira,"  she  said  aloud,  turning  to  him, 
"  do  you  know  this  young  man  ?  "  She  spoke  in 
Italian,  and  Von  Lira  answered  in  the  same  lan 
guage  ;  but  as  what  he  said  was  not  exactly  humor 
ous,  I  will  spare  you  the  strange  construction  of  his 
sentences. 

"  Perfectly,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  precisely  con 
cerning  this  young  man  that  I  desire  to  speak  with 
you."  The  count  remained  standing  because  the 
baroness  had  not  told  him  to  be  seated. 

"That  is  fortunate,"  replied  the  baroness,  "for  I 
wish  to  inform  you  that  he  is  a  villain,  a  wretch,  a 
miserable  fellow!  "  Her  anger  was  rising  again,  but 
she  struggled  to  control  it.  When  Nino  realized 
what  she  said,  he  came  forward,  and  stood  near  the 
count,  facing  the  baroness,  his  arms  folded  on  his 
breast,  as  though  to  challenge  accusation.  The  count 
raised  his  eyebrows. 


134  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  I  am  aware  that  he  concealed  his  real  profession 
so  long  as  he  gave  my  daughter  lessons.  That, 
however,  has  been  satisfactorily  explained,  though 
I  regret  it.  Pray  inform  me  why  you  designate 
him  as  a  villain."  Nino  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy 
for  this  man  whom  he  had  so  long  deceived. 

"This  man,  sir,"  said  she  in  measured  tones, 
"  this  low-born  singer,  who  has  palmed  himself  off 
on  us  as  a  respectable  instructor  in  language,  has 
the  audacity  to  love  your  daughter.  For  the  sake 
of  pressing  his  odious  suit,  he 'has  wormed  himself 
into  your  house,  as  into  mine  ;  he  has  sung  beneath 
your  daughter's  window,  and  she  has  dropped  let 
ters  to  him,  —  love-letters,  do  you  understand  ?  And 
now,"  —  her  voice  rose  more  shrill  and  uncontrol 
lable  at  every  word,  as  she  saw  Lira's  face  turn 
white,  and  her  anger  gave  desperate  utterance  to  the 
lie,  —  "  and  now  he  has  the  effrontery  to  come  to 
me  —  to  me  —  to  me  of  all  women  —  and  to  confess 
his  abominable  passion  for  that  pure  angel,  implor 
ing  me  to  assist  him  in  bringing  destruction  upon 
her  and  you.  Oh,  it  is  execrable,  it  is  vile,  it  is 
hellish !  "  She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples  as 
she  stood,  and  glared  at  the  two  men.  The  count 
was  a  strong  man,  easily  petulant,  but  hard  to  move 
to  real  anger.  Though  his  face  was  white  and  his 
right  hand  clutched  his  crutch-stick,  he  still  kept 
the  mastery  of  himself. 

"  Is  what  you  tell  me  true,  madam  ?  "  he  asked 
in  a  strange  voice. 

"  Before  God,  it  is  true  !  "  she  cried  desperately. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  135 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  for  one  moment,  and 
then,  as  though  he  had  been  twenty  years  younger, 
he  made  at  Nino,  brandishing  his  stick  to  strike. 
But  Nino  is  strong  and  young,  and  he  is  almost  a 
Roman.  He  foresaw  the  count's  action,  and  his 
right  hand  stole  to  the  table,  and  grasped  the  clean, 
murderous  knife  ;  the  baroness  had  used  it  so  inno 
cently  to  cut  the  leaves  of  her  book,  half  an  hour 
before.  -With  one  wrench  he  had  disarmed  the 
elder  man,  forced  him  back  upon  a  lounge,  and  set 
the  razor  edge  of  his  weapon  against  the  count's 
throat. 

"  If  you  speak  one  word,  or  try  to  strike  me,  I 
will  cut  off  your  head,"  he  said  quietly,  bringing 
his  cold,  marble  face  close  down  to  the  old  man's 
eyes.  There  was  something  so  deathly  in  his  voice, 
in  spite  of  its  quiet  sound,  that  the  count  thought 
his  hour  was  come,  brave  man  as  he  was.  The 
baroness  tottered  back  against  the  opposite  wall, 
and  stood  staring  at  the  two,  disheveled  and  hor 
rified. 

"  This  woman,"  said  Nino,  still  holding  the  cold 
thing  against  the  flesh,  "  lies  in  part,  and  in  part 
tells  the  truth.  I  love  your  daughter,  it  is  true." 
The  poor  old  man  quivered  beneath  Nino's  weight, 
and  his  eyes  rolled  wildly,  searching  for  some 
means  of  escape.  But  it  was  of  no  use.  "  I 
love  her,  and  have  sung  beneath  her  window  ;  but  I 
•never  had  a  written  word  from  her  in  my  life,  and 
I  neither  told  this  woman  of  my  love  nor  asked  her 
assistance.  She  guessed  it  at  the  first ;  she  guessed 


136  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  reason  of  my  disguise,  and  she  herself  offered 
to  help  me.  You  may  speak  now.  Ask  her." 
Nino  relaxed  his  hold,  and  stood  off,  still  grasping 
the  knife.  The  old  count  breathed,  shook  himself 
and  passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  before 
he  spoke.  The  baroness  stood  as  though  she  were 
petrified. 

"Thunder  weather,  you  are  a  devilish  young 
man  ! "  said  Von  Lira,  still  panting.  Then  he  sud 
denly  recovered  his  dignity.  "  You  have  caused 
me  to  assault  this  young  man,  by  what  you  told 
me,"  he  said,  struggling  to  his  feet.  "  He  defended 
himself,  and  might  have  killed  me,  had  he  chosen. 
Be  good  enough  to  tell  me  whether  he  has  spoken 
the  truth,  or  you." 

"  He  has  spoken  —  the  truth,"  answered  the 
baroness,  staring  vacantly  about  her.  Her  fright 
had  taken  from  her  even  the  faculty  of  lying.  Her 
voice  was  low,  but  she  articulated  the  words  dis 
tinctly.  Then,  suddenly,  she  threw  up  her  hands, 
with  a  short,  quick  scream,  and  fell  forward,  sense 
less,  on  the  floor.  Nino  looked  at  the  count,  and 
dropped  his  knife  on  a  table.  The  count  looked  at 
Nino. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  forgive  you 
for  resisting  my  assault.  I  do  not  forgive  you  for 
presuming  to  love  my  daughter,  and  I  will  find 
means  to  remind  you  of  the  scandal  you  have 
brought  on  my  house."  He  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height.  Nino  handed  him  his  crutch- stick 
civilly. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  137 

"  Signer  Conte,"  he  said,  simply,  but  with  all 
his  natural  courtesy,  "  I  am  sorry  for  this  affair, 
to  which  you  forced  me,  —  or  rather  the  Signora 
Baronessa  forced  us  both.  I  have  acted  foolishly, 
perhaps,  but  I  am  in  love.  And  permit  me  to 
assure  you,  sir,  that  I  will  yet  marry  the  Signorina 
di  Lira,  if  she  consents  to  marry  me." 

"  By  the  name  of  Heaven,"  swore  the  old  count, 
"  if  she  wants  to  marry  a  singer,  she  shall."  He 
limped  to  the  door  in  sullen  anger,  and  went  out. 
Nino  turned  to  the  prostrate  figure  of  the  poor 
baroness.  The  continued  strain  on  her  nerves  had 
broken  her  down,  and  she  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  dead 
faint.  Nino  put  a  cushion  from  the  lounge  under 
her  head,  and  rang  the  bell.  The  servant  appeared 
instantly. 

"  Bring  water  quickly ! "  he  cried.  "  The  signora 
has  fainted."  He  stood  looking  at  the  senseless 
figure  of  the  woman,  as  she  lay  across  the  rich 
Persian  rugs  that  covered  the  floor. 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  salts,  cologne,  her 
maid  —  run,  I  tell  you !  "  he  said  to  the  man,  who 
brought  the  glass  of  water  on  a  gilded  tray.  He 
had  forgotten  that  the  fellow  could  not  be  expected 
to  have  any  sense.  When  her  people  came  at 
last,  he  had  sprinkled  her  face,  and  she  had  un 
consciously  swallowed  enough  of  the  water  to  have 
some  effect  in  reviving  her.  She  began  to  open 
her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  moved  nervously.  Nino 
found  his  hat,  and,  casting  one  glance  around  the 
room  that  had  just  witnessed  such  strange  doings, 


138  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

passed  through  the  door  and  went  out.  The  baron 
ess  was  left  with  her  servants.  Poor  woman  !  She 
did  veiy  wrong,  perhaps,  but  anybody  would  have 
loved  her  —  except  Nino.  She  must  have  been 
terribly  shaken,  one  would  have  thought,  and  she 
ought  to  have  gone  to  lie  down,  and  should  have 
sent  for  the  doctor  to  bleed  her.  But  she  did 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

She  came  to  see  me.  I  was  alone  in  the  house, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  just  gilding 
the  tops  of  the  houses.  I  heard  the  doorbell  ring, 
and  I  went  to  answer  it  myself.  There  stood  the 
beautiful  baroness,  alone,  with  all  her  dark  soft 
things  around  her,  as  pale  as  death,  and  her  eyes 
swollen  sadly  with  weeping.  Nino  had  come  home 
and  told  me  something  about  the  scene  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  I  can  tell  you  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind  about  his  follies. 

"  Does  Professor  Cornelio  Grandi  live  here  ?  " 
she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  am  he,  signora,"  I  answered.  "Will  you 
please  to  come  in?"  And  so  she  came  into  our 
little  sitting-room,  and  sat  over  there  in  the  old 
green  arm-chair.  I  shall  never  forget  it  as  long 
as  I  live. 

I  cannot  tell  you  all  she  said  in  that  brief  half 
hour,  for  it  pains  me  to  think  of  it.  She  spoke  as 
though  I  were  her  confessor,  so  humbly  and  quietly, 
—  as  though  it  had  all  happened  ten  years  ago. 
There  is  no  stubbornness  in  those  tiger  women 
when  once  they  break  down. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  139 

She  said  she  was  going  away  ;  that  she  had  done 
my  boy  a  great  wrong,  and  wished  to  make  such 
reparation  as  she  could  by  telling  me,  at  least,  the 
truth.  She  did  not  scruple  to  say  that  she  had 
loved  him,  nor  that  she  had  done  everything  in  her 
power  to  keep  him ;  though  he  had  never  so  much 
as  looked  at  her,  she  added  pathetically.  She 
wished  to  have  me  know  exactly  how  it  happened, 
no  matter  what  I  might  think  of  her. 

"  You  are  a  nobleman,  count,"  she  said  to  me  at 
last,  "  and  I  can  trust  you  as  one  of  my  own  people, 
I  am  sure.  Yes,  I  know :  you  have  been  unfortu 
nate,  and  are  now  a  professor.  But  that  does  not 
change  the  blood.  I  can  trust  you.  You  need 
not  tell  him  I  came,  unless  you  wish  it.  I  shall 
never  see  him  again.  I  am  glad  to  have  been  here, 
to  see  where  he  lives."  She  rose,  and  moved  to 
go.  I  confess  that  the  tears  were  in  my  eyes. 
There  was  a  pile  of  music  on  the  old  piano. 
There  was  a  loose  leaf  on  the  top,  with  his  name 
written  on  it.  She  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  me  out  of  her  sad  eyes.  I  knew  she 
wanted  to  take  it,  and  I  nodded. 

"  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  you  know."  Her 
voice  was  gentle  and  weak,  and  she  hastened  to  the 
door ;  so  that  almost  before  I  knew  it  she  was 
gone.  The  sun  had  left  the  red-tiled  roofs  opposite, 
and  the  goldfinch  was  silent  in  his  cage.  So  I  sat 
down  in  the  chair  where  she  had  rested,  and  folded 
my  hands,  and  thought,  as  I  am  always  thinking 
ever  since,  how  I  could  have  loved  such  a  woman 


140  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

as  that ;  so  passionate,  so  beautiful,  so  piteously 
sorry  for  what  she  had  done  that  was  wrong.  Ah 
me  !  for  the  years  that  are  gone  away  so  cruelly, 
for  the  days  so  desperately  dead !  Give  me  but  one 
of  those  golden  days,  and  I  would  make  the  pomp 
of  emperors  ridiculous.  A  greater  man  than  I  said 
that,  —  a  man  over  the  seas,  with  a  great  soul,  who 
wrote  in  a  foreign  tongue,  but  spoke  a  language 
germane  to  all  human  speech.  But  even  he  cannot 
bring  back  one  of  those  dear  days.  I  would  give 
much  to  have  that  one  day  back,  when  she  came 
and  told  me  all  her  woes.  But  that  is  impossible. 

When  they  came  to  wake  her  in  the  morning 
—  the  very  morning  after  that  —  she  was  dead  in 
her  bed ;  the  color  gone  forever  from  those  velvet 
cheeks,  the  fire  quenched  out  of  those  passionate 
eyes,  past  power  of  love  or  hate  to  rekindle.  Re- 
quiescat  in  pace,  and  may  God  give  her  eternal  rest 
and  forgiveness  for  all  her  sins.  Poor,  beautiful, 
erring  woman ! 


IX. 

AT  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  baroness's 
death,  as  Nino  was  busy  singing  scales,  there  was 
a  ring  at  the  door,  and  presently  Mariuccia  came 
running  in  as  fast  as  her  poor  old  legs  could  carry 
her,  and  whiter  than  a  pillow-case,  to  say  that  there 
was  a  man  at  the  door  with  two  gendarmes,  asking 
for  Nino;  and  before  I  could  question  her,  the 
three  men  walked  unbidden  into  the  room,  demand 
ing  which  was  Giovanni  Cardegna,  the  singer. 
Nino  started,  and  then  said  quietly  that  he  was  the 
man.  I  have  had  dealings  with  these  people,  and  I 
know  what  is  best  to  be  done.  They  were  inclined 
to  be  rough  and  very  peremptory.  I  confess.  I  was 
frightened;  but  I  think  I  am  more  cunning  when 
I  am  a  little  afraid. 

"  Mariuccia,"  I  said,  as  she  stood  trembling  in 
the  doorway,  waiting  to  see  what  would  happen, 
"fetch  a  flask  of  that  old  wine,  and  serve  these 
gentlemen,  —  and  a  few  chestnuts,  if  you  have 
some.  Be  seated,  signori,"  I  said  to  them,  "  and 
take  one  of  these  cigars.  My  boy  is  a  singer,  and 
you  would  not  hurt  his  voice  by  taking  him  out  so 
early  on  this  raw  morning.  Sit  down,  Nino,  and 
ask  these  gentlemen  what  they  desire."  They  all 
sat  down,  somewhat  sullenly,  and  the  gendarmes' 
sabres  clanked  on  the  brick  floor. 


142  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"What  do  you  wish  from  me?"  asked  Nino, 
who  was  not  much  moved  after  the  first  surprise. 

"  We  regret  to  say,"  answered  the  man  in  plain 
clothes,  "  that  we  are  here  to  arrest  you." 

"May  I  inquire  on  what  charge?"  I  asked. 
"  But  first  let  me  fill  your  glasses.  Dry  throats 
make  surly  answers,  as  the  provei'b  says."  They 
drank.  It  chanced  that  the  wine  was  good,  being 
from  my  own  vineyard,  —  my  little  vineyard  that  I 
bought  outside  of  Porta  Salara,  —  and  the  men 
were  cold  and  wet,  for  it  was  raining. 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  who  had  spoken  before, — 
he  was  clean-shaved  and  fat,  and  he  smacked  his 
lips  over  the  wine,  —  "  it  is  not  our  way  to  answer 
questions.  But  since  you  are  so  civil,  I  will  tell 
you  that  you  are  arrested  on  suspicion  of  having 
poisoned  that  Russian  baroness,  with  the  long 
name,  at  whose  house  you  have  been  so  intimate." 

"Poisoned?  The  baroness  poisoned?  Is  she 
very  ill,  then  ?  "  asked  Nino,  in  great  alarm. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  the  fat  man,  wiping  his 
mouth,  and  twisting  the  empty  glass  in  his  hand. 

"  Dead !  "  cried  Nino  and  I  together. 

"Dead  —  yes;  as  dead  as  St.  Peter,"  he  an 
swered  irreverently.  "Your  wine  is  good,  Signer 
Prof essore.  Yes,  I  will  take  another  glass  —  and 
my  men,  too.  Yes,  she  was  found  dead  this  morn 
ing,  lying  in  her  bed.  You  were  there  yesterday, 
Signor  Cardegna,  and  her  servant  says  he  saw  you 
giving  her  something  in  a  glass  of  water."  He 
drank  a  long  draught  from  his  glass.  "  You  would 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  143 

have  done  better  to  give  her  some  of  this  wine,  my 
friend.  She  would  certainly  be  alive  to-day."  But 
Nino  was  dark  and  thoughtful.  He  must  have  been 
pained  and  terribly  shocked  at  the  sudden  news,  of 
course,  but  he  did  not  admire  her  as  I  did. 

"  Of  course  this  thing  will  soon  be  over,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  I  am  very  much  grieved  to  hear  of  the 
lady's  death,  but  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  I  was 
concerned  in  it,  however  it  happened.  She  fainted 
suddenly  in  the  morning  when  I  was  there,  and  I 
gave  her  some  water  to  drink,  but  there  was  noth 
ing  in  it."  He  clasped  his  hands  on  his  knee,  and 
looked  much  distressed. 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  you  poisoned  her," 
remarked  the  fat  man,  with  annoying  indifference. 
"  The  servant  says  he  overheard  high  words  be 
tween  you  "  — 

"He  overheard?"  cried  Nino,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "  Cursed  beast,  to  listen  at  the  door !  "  He 
began  to  walk  about  excitedly.  "  How  long  is  this 
affair  to  keep  me?"  he  asked  suddenly.  "  I  have 
to  sing  to-night  —  and  that  poor  lady  lying  there 
dead  —  oh,  I  cannot !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  be  detained  more  than  a 
couple  of  hours,"  said  the  fat  man.  "  And  perhaps 
you  will  be  detained  until  the  Day  of  Judgment," 
he  added,  with  a  sly  wink  at  the  gendarmes,  who 
laughed  obsequiously.  "  By  this  afternoon,  the 
doctors  will  know  of  what  she  died  ;  and  if  there 
was  no  poison,  and  she  died  a  natural  death,  you 
can  go  to  the  theatre  and  sing,  if  you  have  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

stomach.  I  would,  I  am  sure.  You  see,  she  is  a 
great  lady,  and  the  people  of  her  embassy  are  caus 
ing  everything  to  be  done  very  quickly.  If  you 
had  poisoned  that  old  lady  who  brought  us  this 
famous  wine  a  minute  ago,  you  might  have  had  to 
wait  till  next  year,  innocent  or  guilty."  It  struck 
me  that  the  wine  was  producing  its  effect. 

"Very  well,"  said  Nino,  resolutely ;  "let  us  go. 
You  will  see  that  I  am  perfectly  ready,  although 
the  news  has  shaken  me  much ;  and  so  you  will 
permit  me  to  walk  quietly  with  you,  without  at 
tracting  any  attention  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  woidd  not  think  of  incommoding  you," 
said  the  fat  man.  "  The  orders  were  expressly  to 
give  you  every  convenience,  and  we  have  a  private 
carriage  below.  Signor  Grandi,  we  thank  you 
for  your  civility.  Good-morning  —  a  thousand  ex 
cuses."  He  bowed,  and  the  gendarmes  rose  to 
their  feet,  refreshed  and  ruddy  with  the  good  wine. 
Of  course  I  knew  I  could  not  accompany  them,  and 
I  was  too  much  frightened  to  have  been  of  any  use. 
Poor  Mariuccia  was  crying  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Send  word  to  Jacovacci,  the  manager,  if  you  do 
not  hear  by  twelve  o'clock,"  Nino  called  back  from 
the  landing,  and  the  door  closed  behind  them  all. 
I  was  left  alone,  sad  and  frightened,  and  I  felt 
very  old,  —  much  older  than  I  am. 

It  was  tragic.  Mechanically  I  sank  into  the  old 
green  arui-chair,  where  she  had  sat  but  yesterday 
evening,  —  she  whom  I  had  seen  but  twice,  once  in 
the  theatre  and  once  here,  but  of  whom  I  had  heard 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  145 

so  much.  And  she  was  dead,  so  soon.  If  Nino 
could  only  have  heard  her  last  words  and  seen  her 
last  look,  he  would  have  been  more  hurt  when  he 
heard  of  her  sudden  death.  But  he  is  of  stone, 
that  man,  save  for  his  love  and  his  art.  He  seems 
to  have  no  room  left  for  sympathy  with  human  ills, 
nor  even  for  fear  on  his  own  account.  Fear !  — 
how  I  hate  the  word !  Nino  did  not  seem  fright 
ened  at  all,  when  they  took  him  away.  But  as  for 
me  —  well,  it  was  not  for  myself  this  time,  at  least. 
That  is  some  comfort.  I  think  one  may  be  afraid 
for  other  people. 

Mariuccia  was  so  much  disturbed  that  I  was 
obliged  to  go  myself  to  get  De  Pretis,  who  gave  up 
all  his  lessons  that  day  and  came  to  give  me  his  ad 
vice.  He  looked  grave  and  spoke  very  little,  but 
he  is  a  broad-shouldered,  genial  man,  and  very  com 
forting.  He  insisted  on  going  himself  at  once  to 
see  Nino,  to  give  him  all  the  help  he  could.  He 
would  not  hear  of  my  going,  for  he  said  I  ought  to 
be  bled  and  have  some  tea  of  mallows  to  calm  me. 
And  when  I  offered  him  a  cigar  from  the  box  of 
good  ones  Nino  had  given  me,  he  took  six  or  seven, 
and  put  them  in  his  pocket  without  saying  a  word. 
But  I  did  not  grudge  them  to  him  ;  for  though  he 
is  very  ridiculous,  with  his  skull-cap  and  his  snuff 
box,  he  is  a  leal  man,  as  we  say,  who  stands  by  his 
friends  and  snaps  his  fingers  at  the  devil. 

I  cannot   describe   to    you   the   anxiety   I  felt 
through  all  that  day.      I  could  not  eat,  nor  drink, 
nor  write.     I  could  not  smoke,  and  when  I  tried  to 
10 


146  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

go  to  sleep  that  cat  —  an  apoplexy  on  her !  — 
climbed  up  on  my  shoulder  and  clawed  my  hair. 
Mariuccia  sat  moaning  in  the  kitchen,  and  could 
not  cook  at  all,  so  that  I  was  half  starved. 

At  three  o'clock  De  Pretis  came  back. 

"  Courage,  conte  mio !  "  he  cried ;  and  I  knew 
it  was  all  right.  "  Courage !  Nino  is  at  liberty 
again,  and  says  he  will  sing  to-night  to  show 
them  he  is  not  a  clay  doll,  to  be  broken  by  a  little 
knocking  about.  Ah,  what  a  glorious  boy  Nino 
is!" 

"  But  where  is  he  ?  "  I  asked,  when  I  could  find 
voice  to  speak,  for  I  was  all  trembling. 

"  He  is  gone  for  a  good  walk,  to  freshen  his 
nerves,  poverino.  I  wonder  he  has  any  strength  left. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  give  me  a  match  that  I  may 
light  my  cigar,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Thank  you.  And  I  will  sit  down,  comfortably  — 
so.  Now  you  must  know  that  the  baroness  —  re- 
quiescat !  —  was  not  poisoned  by  Nino,  or  by  any 
one  else." 

"  Of  course  not !     Go  on." 

"  Piano,  —  slow  and  sure.  They  had  a  terrific 
scene,  yesterday.  You  know?  Yes.  Then  she 
went  out  and  tired  herself,  poor  soul,  so  that  when 
she  got  home  she  had  an  attack  of  the  nerves. 
Now  these  foreigners,  who  are  a  pack  of  silly  people, 
do  not  have  themselves  bled  and  drink  malva  water 
as  we  do  when  we  get  a  fit  of  anger.  But  they 
take  opium ;  that  is,  a  thing  they  call  chloral.  God 
knows  what  it  is  made  of,  but  it  puts  them  to  sleep. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  147 

like  opium.  When  the  doctors  came  to  look  at 
the  poor  lady,  they  saw  at  once  what  was  the  mat 
ter,  and  called  the  maid.  The  maid  said  her  mis 
tress  certainly  had  some  queer  stuff  in  a  little  bot 
tle,  which  she  often  used  to  take ;  and  when  they 
inquired  further  they  heard  that  the  baroness  had 
poured  out  much  more  than  usual  the  night  before, 
while  the  maid  was  combing  her  hair,  for  she 
seemed  terribly  excited  and  restless.  So  they  got 
the  bottle  and  found  it  nearly  empty.  Then  the 
doctors  said,  '  At  what  time  was  this  young  man 
who  is  now  arrested  seen  to  give  her  the  glass  of 
water  ?  '  The  man-servant  said  it  was  about  two 
in  the  afternoon.  So  the  doctors  knew  that  if  Nino 
had  given  her  the  chloral  she  could  not  have  gone 
out  afterwards,  and  have  been  awake  at  eleven  in 
the  evening  when  her  maid  was  with  her,  and  yet 
have  been  hurt  by  what  he  gave  her.  And  so,  as 
Jacovacci  was  raising  a  thousand  devils  in  every 
corner  of  Rome  because  they  had  arrested  his  prin 
cipal  singer  on  false  pretenses,  and  was  threaten 
ing  to  bring  suits  against  everybody,  including  the 
Russian  embassy,  the  doctors,  and  the  government, 
if  Nino  did  not  appear  in  Faust  to-night,  according 
to  his  agreement,  the  result  was  that,  half  an  hour 
ago,  Nino  was  conducted  out  of  the  police  precincts 
with  ten  thousand  apologies,  and  put  into  the  arms 
of  Jacovacci,  who  wept  for  joy,  and  carried  him  off 
to  a  late  breakfast  at  Morteo's.  And  then  I  came 
here.  But  I  made  Nino  promise  to  take  a  good 
walk  for  his  digestion,  since  the  weather  has  changed. 


148  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

For  a  breakfast  at  three  in  the  afternoon  may  be 
called  late,  even  in  Rome.  And  that  reminds  me 
to  ask  you  for  a  drop  of  wine  ;  for  I  am  still  fast 
ing,  and  this  talking  is  worse  for  the  throat  than  a 
dozen  high  masses." 

Mariuccia  had  been  listening  at  the  door,  as 
usual,  and  she  immediately  began  crying  for  joy  ; 
for  she  is  a  weak-minded  old  thing,  and  dotes  011 
Nino.  I  was  very  glad  myself,  I  can  tell  you ;  but 
I  could  not  understand  how  Nino  could  have  the 
heart  to  sing,  or  should  lack  heart  so  much  as  to 
be  fit  for  it.  Before  the  evening  he  came  home, 
silent  and  thoughtful.  I  asked  him  whether  he 
were  not  glad  to  be  free  so  easily. 

"  That  is  not  a  very  intelligent  question  for  a 
philosopher  like  you  to  ask,"  he  answered.  "  Of 
course  I  am  glad  of  my  liberty ;  any  man  would  be. 
But  I  feel  that  I  am  as  much  the  cause  of  that 
poor  lady's  death  as  though  I  had  killed  her  with 
my  own  hands.  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

"Diana! "  I  cried,  "  it  is  a  horrible  tragedy  ;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  could  not  help  it  if  she 
chose  to  love  you." 

"  Hush !  "  said  he,  so  sternly  that  he  frightened 
me.  "  She  is  dead.  God  give  her  soul  rest.  Let 
us  not  talk  of  what  she  did." 

"  But,"  I  objected,  "  if  you  feel  so  strongly 
about  it,  how  can  you  sing  at  the  opera  to-night  ?  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  reasons  why  I  should  sing. 
In  the  first  place,  I  owe  it  to  my  engagement  with 
Jacovacci.  He  has  taken  endless  trouble  to  have 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  149 

me  cleared  at  once,  and  I  will  not  disappoint  him. 
Besides,  I  have  not  lost  my  voice,  and  might  be 
half  ruined  by  breaking  contract  so  early.  Then, 
the  afternoon  papers  are  full  of  the  whole  affair, 
some  right  and  some  wrong,  and  I  am  bound  to 
show  the  Contessina  di  Lira  that  this  unfortunate 
accident  does  not  touch  my  heart,  however  sorry  I 
may  be.  If  I  did  not  appear,  all  Rome  would  say 
it  was  because  I  was  heart-broken.  If  she  does 
not  go  to  the  theatre,  she  will  at  least  hear  of  it. 
Therefore  I  will  sing."  It  was  very  reasonable 
of  him  to  think  so. 

"  Have  any  of  the  papers  got  hold  of  the  story 
of  your  giving  lessons  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  and  there  is  no  mention  of 
the  Lira  family." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

Hedwig  did  not  go  to  the  opera.  Of  course  she 
was  quite  right.  However  she  might  feel  about 
the  baroness,  it  would  have  been  in  the  worst  pos 
sible  taste  to  go  to  the  opera  the  very  day  after 
her  death.  That  is  the  way  society  puts  it.  It  is 
bad  taste  ;  they  never  say  it  is  heartless,  or  unkind, 
or  brutal.  It  is  simply  bad  taste.  Nino  sang, 
on  the  whole,  better  than  if  she  had  been  there,  for 
he  put  his  whole  soul  in  his  art,  and  won  fresh  lau 
rels.  When  it  was  over  he  was  besieged  by  the 
agent  of  the  London  manager  to  come  to  some 
agreement. 

"I  cannot  tell  yet,"  he  said.  "I  will  tell  you 
soon."  He  was  not  willing  to  leave  Rome,  — that 


150  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

was  the  truth  of  the  matter.  He  thought  of  noth 
ing,  day  or  night,  but  of  how  he  might  see  Hedwig^ 
and  his  heart  writhed  in  his  breast  when  it  seemed 
more  and  more  impossible.  He  dared  not  risk 
compromising  her  by  another  serenade,  as  he  felt 
sure  that  it  had  been  some  servant  of  the  count 
who  had  betrayed  him  to  the  baroness.  At  last  he 
hit  upon  a  plan.  The  funeral  of  the  baroness  was 
to  take  place  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day. 
He  felt  sure  that  the  Graf  von  Lira  would  go  to  it, 
and  he  was  equally  certain  that  Hedwig  would  not. 
It  chanced  to  be  the  hour  at  which  De  Pretis  went 
to  the  Palazzo  to  give  her  the  singing  lesson. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  barbarous  thing  for  me  to  do," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Love 
first,  and  tragedy  afterwards." 

In  the  afternoon,  therefore,  he  sallied  out,  and 
went  boldly  to  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  He  in 
quired  of  the  porter  whether  the  Signer  Conte  had 
gone  out,  and  just  as  he  had  expected,  so  he  found 
it.  Old  Lira  had  left  the  house  ten  minutes  ear 
lier,  to  go  to  the  funeral.  Nino  ran  up  the  stairs 
and  rang  the  bell.  The  footman  opened  the  door, 
and  Nino  quickly  slipped  a  five-franc  note  into  his 
hand,  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding.  On 
asking  if  the  signorina  were  at  home,  the  footman 
nodded,  and  added  that  Professor  De  Pretis  was 
with  her,  but  she  would  doubtless  see  Professor 
Cardegna  as  well.  And  so  it  turned  out.  He  was 
ushered  into  the  great  drawing-room,  where  the 
piano  was.  Hedwig  came  forward  a  few  steps  from 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  151 

where  she  had  been  standing  beside  De  Pretis,  and 
Nino  bowed  low  before  her.  She  had  on  a  long 
dark  dress,  and  no  ornament  whatever,  save  her 
beautiful  bright  hair,  so  that  her  face  was  like  a 
jewel  set  in  gold  and  velvet.  But,  when  I  think 
of  it,  such  a  combination  would  seem  absurdly  vul 
gar  by  the  side  of  Iledwig  von  Lira.  She  was  so 
pale  and  exquisite  and  sad  that  Nino  could  hardly 
look  at  her.  He  remembered  that  there  were  vi 
olets,  rarest  of  flowers  in  Rome  in  January,  in  her 
belt. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Nino  had  expected  to  find  her 
stern  and  cold,  whereas  she  was  only  very  quiet 
and  sorrowful. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  signorina,  for  this  rash 
ness  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  In  that  I  receive  you  I  forgive  you,  sir,"  she 
said.  He  glanced  toward  De  Pretis,  who  seemed 
absorbed  in  some  music  at  the  piano  and  was  play 
ing  over  bits  of  an  accompaniment.  She  under 
stood,  and  moved  slowly  to  a  window  at  the  other 
end  of  the  great  room,  standing  among  the  curtains. 
He  placed  himself  in  the  embrasure.  She  looked 
at  him  long  and  earnestly,  as  if  finally  reconciling 
the  singer  with  the  man  she  had  known  so  long. 
She  found  him  changed,  as  I  had,  in  a  short  time. 
His  face  was  sterner  and  thinner  and  whiter  than 
before,  and  there  were  traces  of  thought  in  the  deep 
shadows  beneath  his  eyes.  Quietly  observing  him, 
she  saw  how  perfectly  simple  and  exquisitely  care 
ful  was  his  dress,  and  how  his  hands  bespoke  that 


152  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

attention  which  only  a  gentleman  gives  to  the  de 
tails  of  his  person.  She  saw  that,  if  he  were  not 
handsome,  he  was  in  the  last  degree  striking  to  the 
eye,  in  spite  of  all  his  simplicity,  and  that  he  would 
not  lose  by  being  contrasted  with  all  the  dandies 
and  courtiers  in  Rome.  As  she  looked,  she  saw 
his  lip  quiver  slightly,  the  only  sign  of  emotion  he 
ever  gives,  unless  he  loses  his  head  altogether,  and 
storms,  as  he  sometimes  does. 

"  Signorina,"  he  began,  "  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
a  story ;  will  you  listen  to  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  it  me,"  said  she,  still  looking  in  his  face. 

"  There  was  once  a  solitary  castle  in  the  moun 
tains,  with  battlement  and  moat  both  high  and 
broad.  Far  up  in  a  lonely  turret  dwelt  a  rare 
maiden,  of  such  surpassing  beauty  and  fairness  that 
the  peasants  thought  she  was  not  mortal,  but  an 
angel  from  heaven,  resting  in  that  tower  from  the 
doing  of  good  deeds.  She  had  flowers  up  there  in 
her  chamber,  and  the  seeds  of  flowers ;  and  as  the 
seasons  passed  by,  she  took  from  her  store  the  dry 
germs,  and  planted  them  one  after  another  in  a 
little  earth  on  the  window-sill.  And  the  sun  shone 
on  them  and  they  grew,  and  she  breathed  upon 
them  and  they  were  sweet.  But  they  withered  and 
bore  no  offspring,  and  fell  away,  so  that  year  by 
year  her  store  became  diminished.  At  last  there 
was  but  one  little  paper  bag  of  seed  left,  and  upon 
the  cover  was  written  in  a  strange  character,  '  This 
is  the  Seed  of  the  Thorn  of  the  World.'  But  the 
beautiful  maiden  was  sad  when  she  saw  this,  for 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  153 

she  said,  'All  my  flowers  have  been  sweet,  and 
now  I  have  but  this  thing  left,  which  is  a  thorn ! ' 
And  she  opened  the  paper  and  looked  inside,  and 
saw  one  poor  little  seed,  all  black  and  shriveled. 
Through  that  day  she  pondered  what  to  do  with  it, 
and  was  very  unhappy.  At  night  she  said  to  her 
self,  '  I  will  not  plant  this  one ;  I  will  throw  it 
away,  rather  than  plant  it.'  And  she  went  to  the 
window,  and  tore  the  paper,  and  threw  out  the  little 
seed  into  the  darkness." 

"  Poor  little  thing !  "  said  Hedwig.  She  was  lis 
tening  intently. 

"  She  threw  it  out,  and,  as  it  fell,  all  the  air  was 
full  of  music,  sad  and  sweet,  so  that  she  wondered 
greatly.  The  next  day  she  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow,  and  saw,  between  the  moat  and  the  castle  wall, 
a  new  plant  growing.  It  looked  black  and  uninvit 
ing,  but  it  had  come  up  so  fast  that  it  had  already 
laid  hold  on  the  rough  gray  stones.  At  the  falling 
of  the  night  it  reached  far  up  towards  the  turret,  a 
great  sharp-pointed  vine,  with  only  here  and  there  a 
miserable  leaf  on  it.  '  I  am  sorry  I  threw  it  out,' 
said  the  maiden.  '  It  is  the  Thorn  of  the  World, 
and  the  people  who  pass  will  think  it  defaces  my 
castle.'  But  when  it  was  dark  again  the  air  was 
full  of  music.  The  maiden  went  to  the  window, 
for  she  could  not  sleep,  and  she  called  out,  asking 
who  it  was  that  sang.  Then  a  sweet,  low  voice 
came  up  to  her  from  the  moat.  '  I  am  the  Thorn,' 
it  said,  '  I  sing  in  the  dark,  for  I  am  growing.' 
'  Sing  on,  Thorn,'  said  she,  '  and  grow  if  you  will.' 


154  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

But  in  the  morning,  when  she  awoke,  her  window 
was  darkened,  for  the  Thorn  had  grown  to  be  a 
mighty  tree,  and  its  topmost  shoots  were  black 
against  the  sky.  She  wondered  whether  this  un 
couth  plant  would  bear  anything  but  music.  So 
she  spoke  to  it. 

"  '  Thorn,'  she  said,  '  why  have  you  no  flowers  ? ' 

" '  I  am  the  Thorn  of  the  World,'  it  answered, 
'and  I  can  bear  no  flowers  until  the  hand  that 
planted  me  has  tended  me,  and  pruned  me,  and 
shaped  me  to  be  its  own.  If  you  had  planted  me 
like  the  rest,  it  would  have  been  easy  for  you.  But 
you  planted  me  unwillingly,  down  below  you  by  the 
moat,  and  I  have  had  far  to  climb.' 

"  '  But  my  hands  are  so  delicate,'  said  the  maiden. 
'  You  will  hurt  me,  I  am  sure.' 

" '  Yours  is  the  only  hand  in  the  world  that  I  will 
not  hurt,'  said  the  voice,  so  tenderly  and  softly  and 
sadly  that  the  gentle  fingers  went  out  to  touch  the 
plant  and  see  if  it  were  real.  And  touching  it  they 
clung  there,  for  they  had  no  harm  of  it.  Would 
you  know,  my  lady,  what  happened  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  tell  me  !  "  cried  Hedwig,  whose  im 
agination  was  fascinated  by  the  tale. 

"  As  her  hands  rested  on  the  spiked  branches,  a 
gentle  trembling  went  through  the  Thorn,  and  in  a 
moment  there  burst  out  such  a  blooming  and  blos 
soming  as  the  maiden  had  never  seen.  Every  prick 
became  a  rose,  and  they  were  so  many  that  the  light 
of.  the  day  was  tinged  with  them,  and  their  sweet 
ness  was  like  the  breath  of  paradise.  But  below 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  155 

her  window  the  Thorn  was  as  black  and  forbidding 
as  ever,  for  only  the  maiden's  presence  could  make 
its  flowers  bloom.  But  she  smelled  the  flowers, 
and  pressed  many  of  them  to  her  cheek. 

" '  I  thought  you  were  only  a  Thorn,'  she  said 
softly. 

'"Nay,  fairest  maiden,'  answered  the  glorious 
voice  of  the  bursting  blossom,  '  I  am  the  Rose  of 
the  World  forever,  since  you  have  touched  me.' 

"  That  is  my  story,  signorina.  Have  I  wearied 
you?" 

Hedwig  had  unconsciously  moved  nearer  to  him 
as  he  was  speaking,  for  he  never  raised  his  voice, 
and  she  hung  on  his  words.  There  was  color  in 
her  face,  and  her  breath  came  quickly  through  her 
parted  lips.  She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful. 

"  Wearied  me,  signore  ?  Ah  no  ;  it  is  a  gentle 
tale  of  yours." 

"  It  is  a  true  tale  —  in  part,"  said  he. 

"  In  part  ?  I  do  not  understand  "  —  But  the 
color  was  warmer  in  her  cheek,  and  she  turned  her 
face  half  away,  as  though  looking  out. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  he  replied,  coming  closer,  on 
the  side  from  which  she  turned.  "  Here  is  the 
window.  You  are  the  maiden.  The  thorn  —  it  is 
my  love  for  you  ; "  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whis 
per.  "  You  planted  it  carelessly,  far  below  you  in 
the  dark.  In  the  dark  it  has  grown  and  sung  to 
you,  and  grown  again,  until  now  it  stands  in  your 
own  castle  window.  Will  you  not  touch  it  and 
make  its  flowers  bloom  for  you?"  He  spoke  fer- 


156  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

vently.  She  had  turned  her  face  quite  from  him 
now,  and  was  resting  her  forehead  against  one 
hand  that  leaned  upon  the  heavy  frame  of  the  case 
ment.  The  other  hand  hang  down  by  her  side 
toward  him,  fair  as  a  lily  against  her  dark  gown. 
Nino  touched  it,  then  took  it.  He  could  see  the 
blush  spread  to  her  white  throat,  and  fade  again. 
Between  the  half-falling  curtain  and  the  great  win 
dow  he  bent  his  knee  and  pressed  her  fingers  to  his 
lips.  She  made  as  though  she  would  withdraw  her 
hand,  and  then  left  it  in  his.  Her  glance  stole  to 
him  as  he  kneeled  there,  and  he  felt  it  on  him,  so 
that  he  looked  up.  She  seemed  to  raise  him  with 
her  fingers,  and  her  eyes  held  his  and  drew  them  ; 
he  stood  up,  and,  still  holding  her  hand,  his  face 
was  near  to  hers.  Closer  and  closer  yet,  as  by 
a  spell,  each  gazing  searchingly  into  the  other's 
glance,  till  their  eyes  could  see  no  more  for  close 
ness,  and  their  lips  met  in  life's  first  virgin  kiss,  — 
in  the  glory  and  strength  of  a  twofold  purity,  each 
to  each. 

Far  off  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  De  Pretis 
struck  a  chord  on  the  piano.  They  started  at  the 
sound. 

"  When  ?  "  whispered  Nino,  hurriedly. 

"  At  midnight,  under  my  window,"  she  answered 
quickly,  not  thinking  of  anything  better  in  her 
haste.  "  I  will  tell  you  then.  You  must  go ;  my 
father  will  soon  be  here.  No,  not  again,"  she  pro 
tested.  But  he  drew  her  to  him,  and  said  good-by 
in  his  own  manner.  She  lingered  an  instant,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  157 

tore  herself  away.  De  Pretis  was  playing  loudly. 
Nino  had  to  pass  near  him  to  go  out,  and  the  maes 
tro  nodded  carelessly  as  he  went  by. 

"Excuse  me,  maestro,"  said  Hedwig,  as  Nino 
bowed  himself  out ;  "  it  was  a  question  of  arrang 
ing  certain  lessons." 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  said  he  indifferently  ;  "  my 
time  is  yours,  signorina.  Shall  we  go  through  with 
this  solfeggio  once  more  ?  " 

The  good  maestro  did  not  seem  greatly  disturbed 
by  the  interruption.  Hedwig  wondered,  dreamily, 
whether  he  had  understood.  It  all  seemed  like 
a  dream.  The  notes  were  upside  down  in  her 
sight,  and  her  voice  sought  strange  minor  keys  un 
consciously,  as  she  vainly  tried  to  concentrate  her 
attention  upon  what  she  was  doing. 

"  Signorina,"  said  Ercole  at  last,  "  what  you  sing 
is  very  pretty,  but  it  is  not  exactly  what  is  written 
here.  I  fear  you  are  tired." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  she.  "  Let  us  not  sing  any 
more  to-day."  Ercole  shut  up  the  music  and  rose. 
She  gave  him  her  hand,  a  thing  she  had  never 
done  before  ;  and  it  was  unconscious  now,  as  every 
thing  she  did  seemed  to  be.  There  is  a  point  when 
dreaming  gets  the  mastery,  and  appears  infinitely 
more  real  than  the  things  we  touch. 

Nino,  meanwhile,  had  descended  the  steps,  ex 
pecting  every  moment  to  meet  the  count.  As  he 
went  down  the  street,  a  closed  carriage  drove  by 
with  the  Lira  liveries.  The  old  count  was  in  it, 
but  Nino  stepped  into  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  to 


158  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

let  the  equipage  pass,  and  was  not  seen.  The 
wooden  face  of  the  old  nobleman  almost  betrayed 
something  akin  to  emotion.  He  was  returning  from 
the  funeral,  and  it  had  pained  him ;  for  he  had 
liked  the  wild  baroness,  in  a  fatherly,  reproving 
way.  But  the  sight  of  him  sent  a  home  thrust  to 
Nino's  heart. 

"  Her  death  is  on  my  soul  forever,"  he  muttered 
between  his  set  teeth.  Poor  innocent  boy,  it  was 
not  his  fault  if  she  had  loved  him  so  much.  Women 
have  done  things  for  great  singers  that  they  have 
not  done  for  martyrs  or  heroes.  It  seems  so  cer 
tain  that  the  voice  that  sings  so  tenderly  is  speak 
ing  to  them  individually.  Music  is  such  a  fleeting, 
passionate  thing  that  a  woman  takes  it  all  to  her 
self  ;  how  could  he  sing  like  that  for  any  one  else  ? 
And  yet  there  is  always  some  one  for  whom  he 
does  really  pour  out  his  heart,  and  all  the  rest  are 
the  dolls  of  life,  to  be  looked  at,  and  admired  for 
their  dress  and  complexion,  and  to  laugh  at  when 
the  fancy  takes  him  to  laugh  ;  but  not  to  love. 

At  midnight  Nino  was  at  his  post,  but  he  waited 
long  and  patiently  for  a  sign.  It  was  past  two,  and 
he  was  thinking  it  hopeless  to  wait  longer,  when 
his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  window  moving 
on  its  hinges,  and  a  moment  later  something  fell 
at  his  feet  with  a  sharp,  metallic  click.  The  night 
was  dark  and  cloudy,  so  that  the  waning  moon  gave 
little  light.  He  picked  up  the  thing,  and  found  a 
small  pocket  handkerchief  wrapped  about  a  minute 
pair  of  scissors,  apparently  to  give  it  weight.  He 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  159 

expected  a  letter,  and  groped  on  the  damp  pave 
ment  with  his  hands.  Then  he  struck  a  match, 
shaded  it  from  the  breeze  with  his  hand,  and  saw 
that  the  handkerchief  was  stained  with  ink  and 
that  the  stains  were  letters,  roughly  printed  to 
make  them  distinct.  He  hurried  away  to  the  light 
of  a  street  lamp  to  read  the  strange  missive. 


X. 

HE  went  to  the  light  and  spread  out  the  hand 
kerchief.  It  was  a  small  thing,  of  almost  trans 
parent  stuff,  with  a  plain  "  H.  L."  and  a  crown  in 
the  corner.  The  steel  pen  had  torn  the  delicate 
fibres  here  and  there. 

"  They  know  you  have  been  here.  I  am  watched. 
Keep  away  from  the  house  till  you  hear." 

That  was  all  the  message,  but  it  told  worlds.  He 
knew  from  it  that  the  count  was  informed  of  his 
visit,  and  he  tortured  himself  by  trying  to  imagine 
what  the  angry  old  man  would  do.  His  heart  sank 
like  a  stone  in  his  breast  when  he  thought  of  Hed- 
wig  so  imprisoned,  guarded,  made  a  martyr  of,  for 
his  folly.  He  groaned  aloud  when  he  understood 
that  it  was  in  the  power  of  her  father  to  take  her 
away  suddenly  and  leave  no  trace  of  their  destina 
tion,  and  he  cursed  his  haste  and  impetuosity  in 
having  shown  himself  inside  the  house.  But  with 
all  this  weight  of  trouble  upon  him,  he  felt  the 
strength  and  indomitable  determination  within  him 
which  come  only  to  a  man  who  loves,  when  he 
knows  he  is  loved  again.  He  kissed  the  little 
handkerchief,  and  even  the  scissors  she  had  used 
to  weight  it  with,  and  he  put  them  in  his  breast. 
But  he  stood  irresolute,  leaning  against  the  lamp- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  161 

post,  as  a  man  will  who  is  trying  to  force  his 
thoughts  to  overtake  events,  trying  to  shape  the 
future  out  of  the  present.  Suddenly,  he  was  aware 
of  a  tall  figure  in  a  fur  coat  standing  near  him  on 
the  sidewalk.  He  would  have  turned  to  go,  but 
something  about  the  stranger's  appearance  struck 
him  so  oddly  that  he  stayed  where  he  was  and 
watched  him. 

The  tall  man  searched  for  something  in  his 
pockets,  and  finally  produced  a  cigarette,  which  he 
leisurely  lighted  with  a  wax  match.  As  he  did  so 
his  eyes  fell  upon  Nino.  The  stranger  was  tall  and 
very  thin.  He  wore  a  pointed  beard  and  a  heavy 
mustache,  which  seemed  almost  dazzlingly  white,  as 
were  the  few  locks  that  appeared,  neatly  brushed 
over  his  temples,  beneath  his  opera  hat.  His  san 
guine  complexion,  however,  had  all  the  freshness  of 
youth,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  merrily,  as  though 
amused  at  the  spectacle  of  his  nose,  which  was  im 
mense,  curved,  and  polished,  like  an  eagle's  beak. 
He  wore  perfectly  fitting  kid  gloves  and  the  collar 
of  his  fur  wrapper,  falling  a  little  open,  showed  that 
he  was  in  evening  dress. 

It  was  so  late  —  past  two  o'clock  —  that  Nino 
had  not  expected  anything  more  than  a  policeman 
or  some  homeless  wanderer,  when  he  raised  his  eyes 
to  look  on  the  stranger.  He  was  fascinated  by  the 
strange  presence  of  the  aged  dandy,  for  such  he 
seemed  to  be,  and  returned  his  gaze  boldly.  He 
was  still  more  astonished,  however,  when  the  old 
gentleman  came  close  to  him,  and  raised  his  hat, 
11 


162  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

displaying,  as  he  did  so,  a  very  high  and  narrow 
forehead,  crowned  with  a  mass  of  smooth  white 
hair.  There  was  both  grace  and  authority  in  the 
courteous  gesture,  and  Nino  thought  the  old  gentle 
man  moved  with  an  ease  that  matched  his  youthful 
complexion  rather  than  his  hoary  locks. 

"  Signer  Cardegna,  the  distinguished  artist,  if  I 
mistake  not  ?  "  said  the  stranger,  with  a  peculiar 
foreign  accent,  the  like  of  which  Nino  had  never 
heard.  He,  also,  raised  his  hat,  extremely  surprised 
that  a  chance  passer-by  should  know  him.  He  had 
not  yet  learned  what  it  is  to  be  famous.  But  he 
was  far  from  pleased  at  being  addressed  in  his 
present  mood. 

"  The  same,  signore,"  he  replied  coldly.  "  How 
can  I  serve  you  ?  " 

"You  can  serve  the  world  you  so  well  adorn  bet 
ter  than  by  exposing  your  noble  voice  to  the  mid 
night  damps  and  chills  of  this  infernal  —  I  would 
say,  eternal  —  city,"  answered  the  other.  "  For 
give  me.  I  am,  not  unnaturally,  concerned  at  the 
prospect  of  losing  even  a  small  portion  of  the  pleas 
ure  you  know  how  to  give  to  me  and  to  many 
others." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  flattery,"  said  Nino,  draw 
ing  his  cloak  about  him,  "  but  it  appears  to  me  that 
my  throat  is  my  own,  and  whatever  voice  there  may 
be  in  it.  Are  you  a  physician,  signore  ?  And  pray 
why  do  you  tell  me  that  Rome  is  an  infernal  city?  " 

"I  have  had  some  experience  of  Rome,  Signer 
Cardegna,"  returned  the  foreigner,  with  a  peculiar 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  163 

smile,  "  and  I  hate  no  place  so  bitterly  in  all  this 
world  —  save  one.  And  as  for  my  being  a  physi 
cian,  I  am  an  old  man,  a  very  singularly  old  man  in 
fact,  and  I  know  something  of  the  art  of  healing." 

"  When  I  need  healing,  as  you  call  it,"  said  Nino 
rather  scornfully,  "  I  will  inquire  for  you.  Do  you 
desire  to  continue  this  interview  amid  the  '  damps 
and  chills  '  of  our  '  infernal  city  '  ?  If  not,  I  will 
wish  you  good-evening." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  the  other,  not  in  the  least 
repulsed  by  Nino's  coldness.  "  I  will  accompany 
you  a  little  way,  if  you  will  allow  me."  Nino 
stared  hard  at  the  stranger,  wondering  what  could 
induce  him  to  take  so  much  interest  in  a  singer. 
Then  he  nodded  gravely,  and  turned  toward  his 
home,  inwardly  hoping  that  his  aggressive  acquaint 
ance  lived  in  the  opposite  direction.  But  he  was 
mistaken.  The  tall  man  blew  a  quantity  of  smoke 
through  his  nose  and  walked  by  his  side.  He  strode 
over  the  pavement  with  a  long,  elastic  step. 

"  I  live  not  far  from  here,"  he  said,  when  they 
had  gone  a  few  steps,  "  and  if  the  Signer  Cardegna 
will  accept  of  a  glass  of  old  wine  and  a  good  cigar 
I  shall  feel  highly  honored."  Somehow  an  invita 
tion  of  this  kind  was  the  last  thing  Nino  had 
expected  or  desired,  least  of  all  from  a  talkative 
stranger  who  seemed  determined  to  make  his  ac 
quaintance. 

"  I  thank  you,  signore,"  he  answered,  "  but  I 
have  supped,  and  I  do  not  smoke." 

"  Ah  —  I  forgot.    You  are  a  singer,  and  must  of 


164  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

course  be  careful.  That  is  perhaps  the  reason  why 
you  wander  about  the  streets  when  the  nights  are 
dark  and  damp.  But  I  can  offer  you  something 
more  attractive  than  liquor  and  tobacco.  A  great 
violinist  lives  with  me,  a  queer,  nocturnal  bird,  — 
and  if  you  will  come  he  will  be  enchanted  to  play 
for  you.  I  assure  you  he  is  a  very  good  musician, 
the  like  of  whom  you  will  hardly  hear  nowadays. 
He  does  not  play  in  public  any  longer,  from  some 
odd  fancy  of  his." 

Nino  hesitated.  Of  all  instruments  he  loved  the 
violin  best,  and  in  Rome  he  had  had  but  little  op 
portunity  of  hearing  it  well  played.  Concerts  were 
the  rarest  of  luxuries  to  him,  and  violinists  in  Rome 
are  rarer  still. 

"  What  is  his  name,  signore  ?  "  he  asked,  un 
bending  a  little. 

"  You  must  guess  that  when  you  hear  him,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  But  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  he  is  a  great  musician.  Will 
you  come,  or  must  I  offer  you  further  attractions  ?  " 

"  What  might  they  be  ?  "  asked  Nino. 

"  Nay ;  will  you  come  for  what  I  offer  you  ?  If 
the  music  is  not  good,  you  may  go  away  again." 
Still  Nino  hesitated.  Sorrowful  and  fearful  of  the 
future  as  he  was,  his  love  gnawing  cruelly  at  his 
heart,  he  would  have  given  the  whole  world  for  a 
strain  of  rare  music  if  only  he  were  not  forced  to 
make  it  himself.  Then  it  struck  him  that  this  might 
be  some  pitfall.  I  would  not  have  gone. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  you  meditate  any  foul 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  165 

play,  I  would  advise  you  to  retract  your  invitation. 
I  will  come,  and  I  am  well  armed."  He  had  my 
long  knife  about  him  somewhere.  It  is  one  of  my 
precautions.  But  the  stranger  laughed  long  and 
loud  at  the  suggestion,  so  that  his  voice  woke  queer 
echoes  in  the  silent  street.  Nino  did  not  under 
stand  why  he  should  laugh  so  much,  but  he  found 
his  knife  under  his  cloak,  and  made  sure  it  was 
loose  in  its  leathern  sheath.  Presently  the  stranger 
stopped  before  the  large  door  of  an  old  palazzo,  — 
every  house  is  a  palazzo  that  has  an  entrance  for 
carriages,  —  and  let  himself  in  with  a  key.  There 
was  a  lantern  on  the  stone  pavement  inside,  and 
seeing  a  light,  Nino  followed  him  boldly.  The  old 
gentleman  took  the  lantern  and  led  the  way  up  the 
stairs,  apologizing  for  the  distance  and  the  dark 
ness.  At  last  they  stopped,  and,  entering  another 
door,  found  themselves  in  the  stranger's  apartment. 

"  A  cardinal  lives  down-stairs,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  up  the  light  of  a  couple  of  large  lamps  that 
burned  dimly  in  the  room  they  had  reached.  "  The 
secretary  of  a  very  holy  order  has  his  office  on  the 
other  side  of  my  landing,  and  altogether  this  is  a 
very  religious  atmosphere.  Pray  take  off  your 
cloak  ;  the  room  is  warm." 

Nino  looked  about  him.  He  had  expected  to  be 
ushered  into  some  princely  dwelling,  for  he  had 
judged  his  interlocutor  to  be  some  rich  and  eccen 
tric  noble,  unless  he  were  an  erratic  scamp.  He 
was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  spectacle  that 
met  his  eyes.  The  furniture  was  scant,  and  all  in 


166  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  style  of  the  last  century.  The  dust  lay  half  an 
inch  thick  on  the  old  gilded  ornaments  and  chande 
liers.  A  great  pier-glass  was  cracked  from  corner 
to  corner,  and  the  metallic  backing  seemed  to  be 
scaling  off  behind.  There  were  two  or  three  open 
valises  on  the  marble  floor,  which  latter,  however, 
seemed  to  have  been  lately  swept.  A  square  table 
was  in  the  centre,  also  free  from  dust,  and  a  few 
high-backed  leathern  chairs,  studded  with  brass 
nails,  were  ranged  about  it.  On  the  table  stood 
one  of  the  lamps,  and  the  other  was  placed  on  a 
marble  column  in  a  corner,  that  once  must  have  sup 
ported  a  bust,  or  something  of  the  kind.  Old  cur 
tains,  moth-eaten  and  ragged  with  age,  but  of  a  rich 
material,  covered  the  windows.  Nino  glanced  at  the 
open  trunks  on  the  floor,  and  saw  that  they  con 
tained  a  quantity  of  wearing  apparel  and  the  like. 
He  guessed  that  his  acquaintance  had  lately  ar 
rived. 

"  I  do  not  often  inhabit  this  den,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  who  had  divested  himself  of  his  furs, 
and  now  showed  his  thin  figure  arrayed  in  the  ex 
treme  of  full  dress.  A  couple  of  decorations  hung 
at  his  button-hole.  "  I  seldom  come  here,  and  on 
my  return,  the  other  day,  I  found  that  the  man  I 
had  left  in  charge  was  dead,  with  all  his  family, 
and  the  place  has  gone  to  ruin.  That  is  always  my 
luck,"  he  added,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  I  should  think  he  must  have  been  dead  some 
time,"  said  Nino,  looking  about  him.  "  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  dust  here." 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  167 

"  Yes,  as  you  say,  it  is  some  years,"  returned  his 
acquaintance,  still  laughing.  He  seemed  a  merry 
old  soul,  fifty  years  younger  than  his  looks.  He 
produced  from  a  case  a  bottle  of  wine  and  two  sil 
ver  cups,  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

"  But  where  is  your  friend,  the  violinist?  "  in 
quired  Nino,  who  was  beginning  to  be  impatient ; 
for  except  that  the  place  was  dusty  and  old,  there 
was  nothing  about  it  sufficiently  interesting  to  take 
his  thoughts  from  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 

"  I  will  introduce  him  to  you,"  said  the  other, 
going  to  one  of  the  valises  and  taking  out  a  violin 
case,  which  he  laid  on  the  table  and  proceeded  to 
open.  The  instrument  was  apparently  of  great  age, 
small  and  well  shaped.  The  stranger  took  it  up 
and  began  to  tune  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  yourself  the 
violinist  ? "  he  asked,  in  astonishment.  But  the 
stranger  vouchsafed  no  answer,  as  he  steadied  the 
fiddle  with  his  bearded  chin  and  turned  the  pegs 
with  his  left  hand,  adjusting  the  strings. 

Then,  suddenly  and  without  any  preluding,  he 
began  to  make  music,  and  from  the  first  note  Nino 
sat  enthralled  and  fascinated,  losing  himself  in  the 
wild  sport  of  the  tones.  The  old  man's  face  be 
came  ashy  white  as  he  played,  and  his  white  hair 
appeared  to  stand  away  from  his  head.  The  long, 
thin  fingers  of  his  left  hand  chased  each  other  in 
pairs  and  singly  along  the  delicate  strings,  while 
the  bow  glanced  in  the  lamplight  as  it  dashed  like 
lightning  across  the  instrument,  or  remained  almost 


168  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

stationary,  quivering  in  his  magic  hold  as  quickly 
as  the  wings  of  the  humming-bird  strike  the  summer 
air.  Sometimes  he  seemed  to  be  tearing  the  heart 
from  the  old  violin  ;  sometimes  it  seemed  to  murmur 
soft  things  in  his  old  ear,  as  though  the  imprisoned 
spirit  of  the  music  were  pleading  to  be  free  on  the 
wings  of  sound :  sweet  as  love  that  is  strong  as 
death ;  feverish  and  murderous  as  jealousy  that  is 
as  cruel  as  the  grave ;  sobbing  great  sobs  of  a  terri 
ble  death-song,  and  screaming  in  the  outrageous 
frenzy  of  a  furious  foe ;  wailing  thin  cries  of  misery, 
too  exhausted  for  strong  grief;  dancing  again  in 
horrid  madness,  as  the  devils  dance  over  some  fresh 
sinner  they  have  gotten  themselves  for  torture  ;  and 
then  at  last,  as  the  strings  bent  to  the  commanding 
bow,  finding  the  triumph  of  a  glorious  rest  in  great, 
broad  chords,  splendid  in  depth  and  royal  harmony, 
grand,  enormous,  and  massive  as  the  united  choirs 
of  heaven. 

Nino  was  beside  himself,  leaning  far  over  the 
table,  straining  eyes  and  ears  to  understand  the 
wonderful  music  that  made  him  drunk  with  its 
strength.  As  the  tones  ceased  he  sank  back  in  his 
chair,  exhausted  by  the  tremendous  effort  of  his 
senses.  Instantly  the  old  man  recovered  his  former 
appearance.  With  his  hand  he  smoothed  the  thick 
white  hair ;  the  fresh  color  came  back  to  his  cheeks ; 
and  as  he  tenderly  laid  his  violin  on  the  table,  he 
was  again  the  exquisitely  dressed  and  courtly  gen 
tleman  who  had  spoken  to  Nino  in  the  street.  The 
musician  disappeared,  and  the  man  of  the  world  re- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  169 

turned.  He  poured  wine  into  the  plain  silver  cups, 
and  invited  Nino  to  drink ;  but  the  boy  pushed  the 
goblet  away,  and  his  strange  host  drank  alone. 

"  You  asked  me  for  the  musician's  name,"  he 
said,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  from  which 
every  trace  of  artistic  inspiration  had  faded  ;  "  can 
you  guess  it  now?  "  Nino  seemed  tongue-tied  still, 
but  he  made  an  effort. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Paganini,"  he  said,  "  but  he 
died  years  ago." 

"  Yes,  he  is  dead,  poor  fellow !  I  am  not  Paga 
nini." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss,  then,"  said  Nino  dreamily.  "  I 
do  not  know  the  names  of  many  violinists,  but  you 
must  be  so  famous  that  I  ought  to  know  yours." 

"  No ;  how  should  you  ?  I  will  tell  you.  I  am 
Benoni,  the  Jew."  The  tall  man's  eyes  twinkled 
more  brightly  than  ever.  Nino  stared  at  him,  and 
saw  that  he  was  certainly  of  a  pronounced  Jewish 
type.  His  brown  eyes  were  long  and  oriental  in 
shape,  and  his  nose  was  unmistakably  Semitic. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  seem  so  ignorant,"  said  Nino, 
blushing,  "  but  I  do  not  know  the  name.  I  per 
ceive,  however,  that  you  are  indeed  a  very  great 
musician,  —  the  greatest  I  ever  heard."  The  com 
pliment  was  perfectly  sincere,  and  Benoni's  face 
beamed  with  pleasure.  He  evidently  liked  praise. 

"  It  is  not  extraordinary,"  he  said,  smiling.  •"  In 
the  course  of  a  very  long  life  it  has  been  my  only 
solace,  and  if  I  have  some  skill  it  is  the  result  of 
constant  study.  I  began  life  very  humbly." 


170  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Nino  thoughtfully,  "  and  I  am 
not  far  from  the  humbleness  yet." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Benoni,  with  a  show  of  interest, 
"  where  you  come  from,  and  why  you  are  a  singer." 

"  I  was  a  peasant's  child,  an  orphan,  and  the 
good  God  gave  me  a  voice.  That  is  all  I  know 
about  it.  A  kind-hearted  gentleman,  who  once 
owned  the  estate  where  I  was  born,  brought  me  up, 
and  wanted  to  make  a  philosopher  of  me.  But  I 
wanted  to  sing,  and  so  I  did." 

"  Do  you  always  do  the  things  you  want  to  do  ?  " 
asked  the  other.  "  You  look  as  though  you  might. 
You  look  like  Napoleon,  —  that  man  always  inter 
ested  me.  That  is  why  I  asked  you  to  come  and 
see  me.  I  have  heard  you  sing,  and  you  are  a  great 
artist,  —  an  additional  reason.  All  artists  should 
be  brothers.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  know  very  few  good  ones,"  said  Nino 
simply ;  "  and  even  among  them  I  would  like  to 
choose  before  claiming  relationship  —  personally. 
But  Art  is  a  great  mother,  and  we  are  all  her 
children." 

"  More  especially  we  who  began  life  so  poorly, 
and  love  Art  because  she  loves  us."  Benoni  seated 
himself  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the  old  chairs,  and 
looked  down  across  the  worm-eaten  table  at  the 
young  singer.  "  We,"  he  continued,  "  who  have 
been  wretchedly  poor  know  better  than  others  that 
art  is  real,  true,  and  enduring ;  medicine  in  sick 
ness  and  food  in  famine  ;  wings  to  the  feet  of  youth 
and  a  staff  for  the  steps  of  old  age.  Do  you  think 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  171 

I  exaggerate,  or  do  you  feel  as  I  do  ?  "  He  paused 
for  a  reply,  and  poured  more  wine  into  his  goblet. 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  feel  as  you  do ! "  cried  Nino, 
with  rising  enthusiasm. 

"  Very  good ;  you  are  a  genuine  artist.  What 
you  have  not  felt  yet,  you  will  feel  hereafter.  You 
have  not  suffered  yet." 

"  You  do  not  know  about  me,"  said  Nino  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  am  suffering  now." 

Benoni  smiled.  "  Do  you  call  that  suffering  ? 
Well,  it  is  perhaps  very  real  to  you,  though  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is.  But  art  will  help  you  through 
it  all,  as  it  has  helped  me." 

"  What  were  you  ?  "  asked  Nino.  "  You  say  you 
were  poor." 

"  Yes.  I  was  a  shoemaker,  and  a  poor  one  at 
that.  I  have  worn  out  more  shoes  than  I  ever 
made.  But  I  was  brought  up  to  it  for  many  years." 

"  You  did  not  study  music  from  a  child,  then  ?  " 

"  No.  But  I  always  loved  it ;  and  I  used  to 
play  in  the  evenings,  when  I  had  been  cobbling  all 
day  long." 

"  And  one  day  you  found  out  you  were  a  great 
artist  and  became  famous.  I  see !  What  a  strange 
beginning  !  "  cried  Nino. 

"  Not  exactly  that.  It  took  a  long  time.  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  my  home,  for  other  reasons,  and 
then  I  played  from  door  to  door,  and  from  town  to 
town,  for  whatever  coppers  were  thrown  to  me.  I 
had  never  heard  any  good  music,  and  so  I  played 
the  things  that  came  into  my  head.  By  and  by 


172  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

people  would  make  me  stay  with  them  awhile,  for 
my  music's  sake.  But  I  never  stayed  long." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,"  said  Benoni,  looking 
grave  and  almost  sad  :  "  it  is  a  very  long  story.  I 
have  traveled  a  great  deal,  preferring  a  life  of  ad 
venture.  But  of  late  money  has  grown  to  be  so 
important  a  thing  that  I  have  given  a  series  of 
great  concerts,  and  have  become  rich  enough  to 
play  for  my  own  pleasure.  Besides,  though  I  travel 
so  much,  I  like  society,  and  I  know  many  people 
everywhere.  To-night,  for  instance,  though  I  have 
been  in  Rome  only  a  week,  I  have  been  to  a  dinner 
•party,  to  the  theatre,  to  a  reception,  and  to  a  ball. 
Everybody  invites  me  as  soon  as  I  arrive.  I  am 
very  popular, — and  yet  I  am  a  Jew,"  he  added, 
laughing  in  an  odd  way. 

"  But  you  are  a  merry  Jew,"  said  Nino,  laugh 
ing  too,  "  besides  being  a  great  genius.  I  do  not 
wonder  people  invite  you." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  merry  than  sad,"  replied  Be 
noni.  "  In  the  course  of  a  long  life  I  have  found 
out  that." 

"  You  do  not  look  so  very  old,"  said  Nino. 
"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  rude  question,"  said  his  host,  laugh 
ing.  "  But  I  will  improvise  a  piece  of  music  for 
you."  He  took  his  violin,  and  stood  up  before  the 
broken  pier-glass.  Then  he  laid  the  bow  over  the 
strings  and  struck  a  chord.  "  What  is  that  ?  "  he 
asked,  sustaining  the  sound. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  173 

"The  common  chord  of  A  minor,"  answered 
Nino  immediately. 

"  You  have  a  good  ear,"  said  Benoni,  still  play 
ing  the  same  notes,  so  that  the  constant  monotony 
of  them  buzzed  like  a  vexatious  insect  in  Nino's 
hearing.  Still  the  old  man  sawed  the  bow  over  the 
same  strings  without  change.  On  and  on,  the 
same  everlasting  chord,  till  Nino  thought  he  must 
go  mad. 

"  It  is  intolerable ;  for  the  love  of  Heaven  stop !  " 
he  cried,  pushing  back  his  chair  and  beginning  to 
pace  the  room.  Benoni  only  smiled,  and  went  on 
as  unchangingly  as  ever.  Nino  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  being  very  sensitive  about  sounds,  and  he 
made  for  the  door. 

"  You  cannot  get  out,  —  I  have  the  key  in  my 
pocket,"  said  Benoni,  without  stopping. 

Then  Nino  became  nearly  frantic,  and  made  at 
the  Jew  to  wrest  the  instrument  from  his  hands. 
But  Benoni  was  agile,  and  eluded  him,  still  playing 
the  one  chord,  till  Nino  cried  aloud,  and  sank  in  a 
chair,  entirely  overcome  by  the  torture,  that  seemed 
boring  its  way  into  his  brain  like  a  corkscrew. 

"  This,"  said  Benoni,  the  bow  still  sawing  the 
strings,  "  is  life  without  laughter.  Now  let  us  laugh 
a  little,  and  see  the  effect." 

It  was  indeed  wonderful.  With  his  instrument 
he  imitated  the  sound  of  a  laughing  voice,  high 
tip  above  the  monotonous  chord :  softly  at  first,  as 
though  far  in  the  distance  ;  then  louder  and  nearer, 
the  sustaining  notes  of  the  minor  falling  away  one 


174  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

after  the  other  and  losing  themselves,  as  the  merri 
ment  gained  ground  on  the  sadness  ;  till  finally, 
with  a  burst  of  life  and  vitality  of  which  it  would 
be  impossible  to  convey  any  idea,  the  whole  body  of 
mirth  broke  into  a  wild  tarantella  movement,  so 
vivid  and  elastic  and  noisy  that  it  seemed  to  Nino 
that  he  saw  the  very  feet  of  the  dancers,  and  heard 
the  jolly  din  of  the  tambourine  and  the  clattering, 
clappering  click  of  the  castanets. 

"  That,"  said  Benoni,  suddenly  stopping,  "  is  life 
with  laughter,  be  it  ever  so  sad  and  monotonous  be 
fore.  Which  do  you  prefer  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  greatest  artist  in  the  world  !  "  cried 
Nina  enthusiastically  ;  "  but  I  should  have  been  a 
raving  madman  if  you  had  played  that  chord  any 
longer." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Benoni,  "  and  I  should  have 
gone  mad  if  I  had  not  laughed.  Poor  Schumann, 
you  know,  died  insane  because  he  fancied  he  always 
heard  one  note  droning  in  his  ears." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  said  Nino.  "  But  it  is 
late,  and  I  must  be  going  home.  Forgive  my  rude 
ness  and  reluctance  to  come  with  you.  I  was  moody 
and  unhappy.  You  have  given  me  more  pleasure 
than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  It  will  seem  little  enough  to-morrow,  I  dare 
say,"  replied  Benoni.  "  That  is  the  way  with  pleas 
ures.  But  you  should  get  them  all  the  same,  when 
you  can,  and  grasp  them  as  tightly  as  a  drowning 
man  grasps  a  straw.  Pleasures  and  money,  money 
and  pleasures." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  175 

Nino  did  not  understand  the  tone  in  which  his 
host  made  this  last  remark.  He  had  learned  dif 
ferent  doctrines  from  me. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  selfishly,  after  showing 
that  you  can  give  pleasure  so  freely,  and  telling  me 
that  we  are  all  brothers  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  you  are  not  in  a  hurry,  I  will  explain  to  you 
that  money  is  the  only  thing  in  this  world  worth 
having,"  said  Benoni,  drinking  another  cup  of  the 
wine,  which  appeared  to  have  no  effect  whatever  on 
his  brain. 

"  Well?  "  said  Nino,  curious  to  hear  what  he  had 
to  say. 

"  In  the  first  place  you  will  allow  that  from  the 
noblest  moral  standpoint  a  man's  highest  aim  should 
be  to  do  good  to  his  fellow  creatures  ?  Yes,  you 
allow  that.  And  to  do  the  greatest  possible  good 
to  the  greatest  possible  number  ?  Yes,  you  allow 
that,  also.  Then,  I  say,  other  things  being  alike,  a 
good  man  will  do  the  greatest  possible  amount  of 
good  in  the  world  when  he  has  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  money.  The  more  money,  the  more 
good  ;  the  less  money,  the  less  good.  Of  course 
money  is  only  the  means  to  the  end,  but  nothing 
tangible  in  the  world  can  ever  be  anything  else. 
All  art  is  only  a  means  to  the  exciting  of  still  more 
perfect  images  in  the  brain  ;  all  crime  is  a  means 
to  the  satisfaction  of  passion,  or  avarice  which  is 
itself  a  king-passion ;  all  good  itself  is  a  means  to 
the  attainment  of  heaven.  Everything  is  bad  or 
good  in  the  world,  except  art,  which  is  a  thing  sep- 


176  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

arate,  though  having  good  and  bad  results.  But 
the  attainment  of  heaven  is  the  best  object  to  keep 
in  view.  To  that  end,  do  the  most  good  ;  and  to 
do  it,  get  the  most  money.  Therefore,  as  a  means, 
money  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  worth  having, 
since  you  can  most  benefit  humanity  by  it,  and  con 
sequently  be  the  most  sure  of  going  to  heaven  when 
you  die.  Is  that  clear  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Nino,  "  provided  a  man  is  him 
self  good." 

"  It  is  very  reprehensible  to  be  bad,"  said  Be- 
noni,  with  a  smile. 

"What  a  ridiculous  truism!  "  said  Nino,  laugh 
ing  outright. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  the  other.  "  But  I  never 
heard  any  preacher,  in  any  country,  tell  his  con 
gregation  anything  else.  And  people  always  listen 
with  attention.  In  countries  where  rain  is  entirely 
unknown,  it  is  not  a  truism  to  say  that  '  when  it 
rains  it  is  damp.'  On  the  contrary,  in  such  coun 
tries  that  statement  would  be  regarded  as  requiring 
demonstration,  and,  once  demonstrated,  it  would  be 
treasured  and  taught  as  an  interesting  scientific 
fact.  Now  it  is  precisely  the  same  with  congrega 
tions  of  men.  They  were  never  bad,  and  never 
can  be ;  in  fact,  they  doubt,  in  their  dear  innocent 
hearts,  whether  they  know  what  a  real  sin  is.  Con 
sequently  they  listen  with  interest  to  the  statement 
that  sin  is  bad,  and  promise  themselves  that  if  ever 
that  piece  of  information  should  be  unexpectedly 
needed  by  any  of  their  friends,  they  will  remem 
ber  it." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  177 

"  You  are  a  satirist,  Signer  Bononi,"  said  Nino. 

"Anything  you  like,"  returned  the  other.  "I 
have  been  called  worse  names  than  that,  in  my 
time.  So  much  for  heaven,  and  the  prospect  of  it. 
But  a  gentleman  has  arisen  in  a  foreign  country 
who  says  that  there  is  no  heaven  anywhere,  and 
that  no  one  does  good  except  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  here  or  hereafter.  But  as  his  hereafter  is 
nowhere,  disregard  it  in  the  argument, .  and  say 
that  man  should  only  do,  or  actually  does,  every 
thing  solely  for  the  sake  of  pleasure  here ;  say  that 
pleasure  is  good,  so  long  as  it  does  not  interfere 
with  the  pleasures  of  others,  and  good  is  pleasure. 
Money  may  help  a  man  to  more  of  it,  but  pleasure 
is  the  thing.  Well,  then,  my  young  brother  artist, 
what  did  I  say  ?  —  '  money  and  pleasure,  pleasure 
and  money.'  The  means  are  there ;  and  as,  of 
course,  you  are  good,  like  everybody  else,  and  de 
sire  pleasure,  you  will  get  to  heaven  hereafter,  if 
there  is  such  a  place ;  and  if  not,  you  will  get  the 
next  thing  to  it,  which  is  a  paradise  on  earth." 
Having  reached  the  climax,  Signer  Benoni  lit  a 
cigarette,  and  laughed  his  own  peculiar  laugh. 

Nino  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  hideous 
sophistry.  For  Nino  is  a  good  boy,- and  believes 
very  much  in  heaven,  as  well  as  in  a  couple  of 
other  places.  Benoni' s  quick  brown  eyes  saw  the 
movement,  and  understood  it,  for  he  laughed  longer 
yet,  and  louder. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  like  that  ?  I  see  nothing 
to  laugh  at.  It  is  very  bitter  and  bad  to  hear,  all 
12 


178  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

this  that  you  say.  I  would  rather  hear  your  music. 
You  are  badly  off,  whether  you  believe  in  heaven 
or  not.  For  if  you  do,  you  are  not  likely  to  get 
there  ;  and  if  you  do  not  believe  in  it,  you  are  a  her 
etic,  and  will  be  burned  forever  and  ever." 

"  Not  so  badly  answered,  for  an  artist ;  and  in  a 
few  words,  too,"  said  Benoni  approvingly.  "  But, 
my  dear  boy,  the  trouble  is  that  I  shall  not  get  to 
heaven  either  way,  for  it  is  my  great  misfortune  to 
be  already  condemned  to  everlasting  flames." 

"No  one  is  that,"  said  Nino  gravely. 

"There  are  some  exceptions,  you  know,"  said 
Benoni. 

"Well,"  answered  the  young  man  thoughtfully, 
"  of  course  there  is  the  Wandering  Jew,  and  such 
tales,  but  nobody  believes  in  him." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Benoni.  "  I  am  tired,  and 
must  go  to  bed." 

Nino  found  his  way  out  alone,  but  carefully 
noted  the  position  of  the  palazzo  before  he  went 
home  through  the  deserted  streets.  It  was  four  in 
the  morning. 


XI. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  after  Nino's  visit  to 
Signor  Benoni,  De  Pretis  came  to  my  house,  wring 
ing  his  hands  and  making  a  great  trouble  and 
noise.  I  had  not  yet  seen  Nino,  who  was  sound 
asleep,  though  I  could  not  imagine  why  he  did  not 
wake.  But  De  Pretis  was  in  such  a  temper  that 
he  shook  the  room  and  everything  in  it,  as  he 
stamped  about  the  brick  floor.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  had  told  me  the  cause  of  his  trouble.  He 
had  just  received  a  formal  note  from  the  Graf  von 
Lira,  inclosing  the  amount  due  to  him  for  lessons, 
and  dispensing  with  his  services  for  the  future. 

Of  course  this  was  the  result  of  the  visit  Nino 
had  so  rashly  made  ;  it  all  came  out  afterwards, 
and  I  will  not  now  go  through  the  details  that  De 
Pretis  poured  out,  when  we  only  half  knew  the 
truth.  The  count's  servant  who  admitted  Nino  had 
pocketed  the  five  francs  as  quietly  as  you  please , 
and  the  moment  the  count  returned  he  told  him 
how  Nino  had  come  and  had  stayed  three  quarters 
of  an  hour,  just  as  if  it  were  an  every -day  affair. 
The  count,  being  a  proud  old  man,  did  not  encour 
age  him  to  make  further  confidences,  but  sent  him 
about  his  business.  He  determined  to  make  a 
prisoner  of  his  daughter  until  he  could  remove  her 


180  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

from  Rome.  He  accordingly  confined  her  in  the 
little  suite  of -apartments  that  were  her  own,  and 
set  an  old  soldier,  whom  he  had  brought  from  Ger 
many  as  a  body-servant,  to  keep  watch  at  the  outer 
door.  He  did  not  condescend  to  explain  even  to 
Hedwig  the  cause  of  his  conduct,  and  she,  poor 
girl,  was  as  proud  as  he,  and  would  not  ask  why 
she  was  shut  up,  lest  the  answer  should  be  a  storm 
of  abuse  against  Nino.  She  cared  not  at  all  how 
her  father  had  found  out  her  secret,  so  long  as  he 
knew  it,  and  she  guessed  that  submission  would  be 
the  best  policy. 

Meanwhile,  active  preparations  were  made  for 
an  immediate  departure.  The  count  informed  his 
friends  that  he  was  going  to  pass  Lent  in  Paris,  on 
account  of  his  daughter's  health,  which  was  very 
poor,  and  in  two  days  everything  was  ready.  They 
would  leave  on  the  following  morning.  In  the 
evening  the  count  entered  his  daughter's  apart 
ments,  after  causing  himself  to  be  formally  an 
nounced  by  a  servant,  and  briefly  informed  her 
that  they  would  start  for  Paris  on  the  following 
morning.  Her  nlaid  had  been  engaged  in  the  mean 
time  in  packing  her  effects,  not  knowing  whither 
her  mistress  was  going.  Hedwig  received  the  an 
nouncement  in  silence,  but  her  father  saw  that  she 
was  deadly  white  and  her  eyes  heavy  from  Veep- 
ing.  I  have  anticipated  this  much  to  make  things 
clearer.  It  was  on  the  first  morning  of  Hedwig's 
confinement  that  De  Pretis  came  to  our  house. 

Nino  was  soon  waked  by  the  maestro's  noise,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  181 

came  to  the  door  of  his  chamber,  which  opens  into 
the  little  sitting-room,  to  inquire  what  the  matter 
might  be.  Nino  asked  if  the  maestro  were  ped 
dling  cabbages,  that  he  should  scream  so  loudly. 

"  Cabbages,  indeed !  cabbage  yourself,  silly  boy!  " 
cried  Ercole,  shaking  his  fist  at  Nino's  head,  just 
visible  through  the  crack  of  the  door.  "  A  pretty 
mess  you  have  made,  with  your  ridiculous  love  af 
fair  !  Here  am  I  "  — 

"  I  see  you  are,"  retorted  Nino ;  "  and  do  not 
call  any  affair  of  mine  ridiculous,  or  I  will  throw 
you  out  of  the  window.  Wait  a  moment !  "  With 
that  he  slammed  his  door  in  the  maestro's  face,  and 
went  on  with  his  dressing.  For  a  few  minutes  De 
Pretis  raved  at  his  ease,  venting  his  wrath  on  me. 
Then  Nino  came  out. 

"Now,  then,"  said  he,  preparing  for  a  tussle, 
"  what  is  the  matter,  my  dear  maestro  ?  "  But  Er 
cole  had  expended  most  of  his  fury  already. 

"  The  matter  !  "  he  grumbled.  "  The  matter  is 
that  I  have  lost  an  excellent  pupil  through  you. 
Count  Lira  says  he  does  not  require  my  services 
any  longer,  and  the  man  who  brought  the  note  says 
they  are  going  away." 

"  Diavolo  ! "  said  Nino,  running  his  fingers 
through  his  curly  black  hair,  "  it  is  indeed  serious. 
Where  are  they  going  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ? "  asked  De  Pretis  an 
grily.  "  I  care  much  more  about  losing  the  lesson 
than  about  where  they  are  going.  I  shall  not  fol 
low  them,  I  promise  you.  I  cannot  take  the  basil- 


182  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

ica  of  St.  Peter  about  with  me  in  my  pocket, 
can  I  ?  " 

And  so  he  was  angry  at  first,  and  at  length  he 
was  pacified,  and  finally  he  advised  Nino  to  dis 
cover  immediately  where  the  count  and  his  daughter 
were  going  ;  and,  if  it  were  to  any  great  capital,  to 
endeavor  to  make  a  contract  to  sing  there.  Lent 
came  early  that  year,  and  Nino  was  free  at  the  end 
of  Carnival,  —  not  many  days  longer  to  wait.  This 
was  the  plan  that  had  instantly  formed  itself  in 
Nino's  brain.  De  Pretis  is  really  a  most  obliging 
man,  but  one  cannot  wonder  that  he  should  be  an 
noyed  at  the  result  of  Nino's  four  months'  court 
ship  under  such  great  difficulties,  when  it  seemed 
that  all  their  efforts  had  led  only  to  the  sudden  de 
parture  of  his  lady-love.  As  for  me,  I  advised 
Nino  to  let  the  whole  matter  drop  then  and  there. 
I  told  him  he  would  soon  get  over  his  foolish  pas 
sion,  and  that  a  statue  like  Hedwig  could  never 
suffer  anything,  since  she  could  never  feel.  But  he 
glared  at  me,  and  did  as  he  liked,  just  as  he  always 
has  done. 

The  message  on  the  handkerchief  that  Nino  had 
received  the  night  before  warned  him  to  keep  away 
from  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  Nino  reflected  that 
this  warning  was  probably  due  to  Hedwig's  anxiety 
for  his  personal  safety,  and  he  resolved  to  risk  any 
thing  rather  than  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  desti 
nation.  It  must  be  a  case  of  giving  some  signal. 
But  this  evening  he  had  to  sing  at  the  theatre,  and 
therefore,  without  more  ado,  he  left  us  and  went  to 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  183 

bed  again,  where  he  stayed  until  twelve  o'clock. 
Then  he  went  to  rehearsal,  arriving  an  hour  behind 
time,  at  least,  a  matter  which  he  treated  with  the 
coolest  indifference.  After  that  he  got  a  pound  of 
small  shot,  and  amused  himself  with  throwing  a 
few  at  a  time  at  the  kitchen  window  from  the  little 
court  at  the  back  of  our  house,  where  the  well  is. 
It  seemed  a  strangely  childish  amusement  for  a 
great  singer. 

Having  sung  successfully  through  his  opera  that 
night,  he  had  supper  with  us,  as  usual,  and  then 
went  out.  Of  course  he  told  me  afterwards  what 
he  did.  He  went  to  his  old  post  under  the  windows 
of  the  Palazzo  Carmandola,  and  as  soon  as  all  was 
dark  he  began  to  throw  small  shot  up  at  Hedwig's 
window.  He  now  profited  by  his  practice  in  the 
afternoon,  for  he  made  the  panes  rattle  with  the 
little  bits  of  lead,  several  times.  At  last  he  was 
rewarded.  Very  slowly  the  window  opened,  and 
Hedwig's  voice  spoke  in  a  low  tone :  — 

"Is  it  you?" 

"  Ah,  dear  one !     Can  you  ask  ?  "  began  Nino. 

"  Hush  !  I  am  still  locked  up.  We  are  going 
away,  —  I  cannot  tell  where." 

"  When,  dearest  love  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  very  tear- 
fully. 

"  I  will  follow  you  immediately ;  only  let  me 
know  when  and  where." 

"  If  you  do  not  hear  by  some  other  means,  come 
here  to-morrow  night.  I  hear  steps.  Go  at  once." 


184  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Good-night,  dearest,"  he  murmured  ;  but  the 
window  was  already  closed,  and  the  fresh  breeze 
that  springs  up  after  one  o'clock  blew  from  the  air 
the  remembrance  of  the  loving  speech  that  had 
passed  upon  it. 

On  the  following  night  he  was  at  his  post,  and 
again  threw  the  shot  against  the  pane  for  a  signal. 
After  a  long  time  Hedwig  opened  the  window  very 
cautiously. 

"  Quick !  "  she  whispered  down  to  him,  "  go ! 
they  are  all  awake,"  and  she  dropped  something 
heavy  and  white.  Perhaps  she  added  some  word, 
but  Nino  would  not  tell  me,  and  never  would  read 
me  the  letter.  But  it  contained  the  news  that 
Hedwig  and  her  father  were  to  leave  Rome  for 
Paris  on  the  following  morning ;  and  ever  since 
that  night  Nino  has  worn  upon  his  little  finger  a 
plain  gold  ring,  —  I  cannot  tell  why,  and  he  says 
he  found  it. 

The  next  day  he  ascertained  from  the  porter  of 
the  Palazzo  Carmandola  that  the  count  and  contes- 
sina,  with  their  servants,  had  actually  left  Rome 
that  morning  for  Paris.  From  that  moment  he 
was  sad  as  death,  and  went  about  his  business  heav 
ily,  being  possessed  of  but  one  idea,  namely,  to  sign 
an  engagement  to  sing  in  Paris  as  soon  as  possible. 
In  that  wicked  city  the  opera  continues  through 
Lent,  and  after  some  haggling,  in  which  De  Pretis 
insisted  on  obtaining  for  Nino  the  most  advan 
tageous  terms,  the  contract  was  made  out  and 
signed. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  185 

I  see  very  well  that  unless  I  hurry  myself  I  shall 
never  reach  the  most  important  part  of  this  story, 
which  is,  after  all,  the  only  part  worth  telling.  I 
am  sure  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  ever  tell  it  so 
quickly,  but  I  will  do  my  best,  and  you  must  have 
a  little  patience ;  for  though  I  am  not  old,  I  am  not 
young,  and  Nino's  departure  for  Paris  was  a  great 
shock  to  me,  so  that  I  do  not  like  to  remember  it, 
and  the  very  thought  of  it  sickens  me.  If  you  have 
ever  had  any  education,  you  must  have  seen  an  ex 
periment  in  which  a  mouse  is  put  in  a  glass  jar,  and 
all  the  air  is  drawn  away  with  a  pump,  so  that  the 
poor  little  beast  languishes  and  rolls  pitifully  on  its 
side,  gasping  and  wheezing  with  its  tiny  lungs  for 
the  least  whiff  of  air.  That  is  just  how  I  felt  when 
Nino  went  away.  It  seemed  as  though  I  could  not 
breathe  in  the  house  or  in  the  streets,  and  the  little 
rooms  at  home  were  so  quiet  that  one  might  hear  a 
pin  fall,  and  the  cat  purring  through  the  closed 
doors.  Nino  left  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  ten 
days  of  Carnival,  when  the  opera  closed,  so  that  it 
was  soon  Lent ;  and  everything  is  quieter  then. 

But  before  he  left  us  there  was  noise  enough  and 
bustle  of  preparation,  and  I  did  not  think  I  should 
miss  him ;  for  he  always  was  making  music,  or 
walking  about,  or  doing  something  to  disturb  me, 
just  at  the  very  moment  when  I  was  most  busy  with 
my  books.  Mariuccia,  indeed,  would  ask  me  from 
time  to  time  what  I  should  do  when  Nino  was  gone, 
as  if  she  could  foretell  what  I  was  to  feel.  I  sup 
pose  she  knew  I  was  used  to  him,  after  fourteen 


186  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

years  of  it,  and  would  be  inclined  to  black  humors 
for  want  of  his  voice.  But  she  could  not  know  just 
what  Nino  is  to  me,  nor  how  I  look  on  him  as  my 
own  boy.  These  peasants  are  quick-witted  and 
foolish ;  they  guess  a  great  many  things  better 
than  I  could,  and  then  reason  on  them  like  idiots. 

Nino  himself  was  glad  to  go.  I  could  see  his  face 
grow  brighter  as  the  time  approached  ;  and  though 
he  appeared  to  be  more  successful  than  ever  in  his 
singing,  I  am  sure  that  he  cared  nothing  for  the  ap 
plause  he  got,  and  thought  only  of  singing  as  well 
as  he  could  for  the  love  of  it.  But  when  it  came 
to  the  parting  we  were  left  alone. 

"  Messer  Cornelio,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  affec 
tionately,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  to-night, 
before  I  go  away." 

"  Speak,  then,  my  dear  boy,"  I  answered,  "  for 
no  one  hears  us." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me.  A  father 
could  not  have  loved  me  better,  and  such  a  father  as 
I  had  could  not  have  done  a  thousandth  part  what 
you  have  done  for  me.  I  am  going  out  into  the 
world  for  a  time,  but  my  home  is  here,  —  or,  rather, 
where  my  home  is  will  always  be  yours.  You 
have  been  my  father,  and  I  will  be  your  son  ;  and 
it  is  time  you  should  give  up  your  professorship. 
No,  not  that  you  are  at  all  old ;  I  do  not  mean 
that." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  I,  "  I  should  think  not." 

"  It  would  be  much  more  proper  if  you  retired 
into  an  elegant  leisure,  so  that  you  might  write  as 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  187 

many  books  as  you  desire,  without  wearing  yourself 
out  in  teaching  those  students  every  day.  Would 
you  not  like  to  go  back  to  Serveti  ?  " 

"  Serveti !  —  ah,  beautiful,  lost  Serveti,  with  its 
castle  and  good  vinelands  !  " 

"You  shall  have  it  again  before  long,  my  fa 
ther,"  he  said.  He  had  never  called  me  father  be 
fore,  the  dear  boy !  I  suppose  it  was  because  he 
was  going  away.  But  Serveti  again  !  The  thing 
was  impossible,  and  I  said  so. 

"  It  is  not  impossible,"  he  answered  placidly. 
"  Successful  singers  make  enough  money  in  a  year 
to  buy  Serveti.  A  year  is  soon  passed.  But  now 
let  us  go  to  the  station,  or  I  shall  not  be  in  time  for 
the  train." 

"  God  bless  you,  Nino  mio,"  I  said,  as  I  saw  him 
off.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  two  or  three  Ni- 
nos.  ^  But  the  train  rolled  away  and  took  them  all 
from  me,  —  the  ragged  little  child  who  first  came 
to  me,  the  strong-limbed,  dark-eyed  boy  with  his 
scales  and  trills  and  enthusiasm,  and  the  full- 
grown  man  with  the  face  like  the  great  emperor, 
mightily  triumphing  in  his  art  and  daring  in  his 
love.  They  were  all  gone  in  a  moment,  and  I  was 
left  alone  on  the  platform  of  the  station,  a  very  sor 
rowful  and  weak  old  man.  Well,  I  will  not  think 
about  that  day. 

The  first  I  heard  of  Nino  was  by  a  letter  he 
wrote  from  Paris,  a  fortnight  after  he  had  left  me. 
It  was  characteristic  of  him,  being  full  of  eager 
questions  about  home  and  De  Pretis  and  Mariuccia 


188  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

and  Rome.  Two  things  struck  me  in  his  writing. 
In  the  first  place,  he  made  no  mention  of  the  count 
or  Hedwig,  which  led  me  to  suppose  that  he  was 
recovering  from  his  passion,  as  boys  do  when  they 
travel.  And  secondly,  he  had  so  much  to  say  about 
me  that  he  forgot  all  about  his  engagement,  and 
never  even  mentioned  the  theatre.  On  looking 

o 

carefully  through  the  letter  again,  I  found  he  had 
written  across  the  top  the  words  "  Eehearsals  sat 
isfactory."  That  was  all. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  letter  came,  however, 
that  I  was  very  much  frightened  by  receiving  a  tel 
egram,  which  must  have  cost  several  francs  to  send 
all  that  distance.  By  this  he  told  me  that  he  had 
no  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Liras,  and  he  im 
plored  me  to  make  inquiries  and  discover  where 
they  had  gone.  He  added  that  he  had  appeared  in 
Faust  successfully.  Of  course  he  would  succeed. 
If  a  singer  can  please  the  Romans,  he  can  please 
anybody.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  he  had  re 
ceived  a  very  especially  flattering  reception  he  would 
have  said  so.  I  went  to  see  De  Pretis,  whom  I 
found  at  home  over  his  dinner.  We  put  our  heads 
together  and  debated  how  we  might  discover  the 
Paris  address  of  the  Graf  von  Lira.  In  a  great 
city  like  tliat  it  was  no  wonder  Nino  could  not  find 
them  ;  but  De  Pretis  hoped  that  some  of  his  pupils 
might  be  in  correspondence  with  the  contessina,  and 
would  be  willing  to  give  the  requisite  directions  for 
reaching  her.  But  days  passed,  and  a  letter  came 
from  Nino  written  immediately  after  sending  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  189 

telegram,  and  still  we  had  accomplished  nothing. 
The  letter  merely  amplified  the  telegraphic  mes 
sage. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  I  said  to  De  Pretis.  "  And  be 
sides,  it  is  much  better  that  he  should  forget  all 
about  it." 

"  You  do  not  know  that  boy,"  said  the  maestro, 
taking  snuff.  He  was  quite  right,  as  it  turned  out. 

Suddenly  Nino  wrote  from  London.  He  had 
made  an  arrangement,  he  said,  by  which  he  was 
allowed  to  sing  there  for  three  nights  only.  The 
two  managers  had  settled  it  between  them,  being 
friends.  He  wrote  very  despondently,  saying  that 
although  he  had  been  far  more  fortunate  in  his  ap 
pearances  than  he  had  expected,  he  was  in  despair 
at  not  having  found  the  contessina,  and  had  ac 
cepted  the  Arrangement  which  took  him  to  London 
because  he  had  hopes  of  finding  her  there.  On  the 
day  which  brought  me  this  letter  I  had  a  visitor. 
Nino  had  been  gone  nearly  a  month.  It  was  in  the 
afternoon,  towards  sunset,  and  I  was  sitting  in  the 
old  green  armchair  watching  the  goldfinch  in  his 
cage,  and  thinking  sadly  of  the  poor  dear  baroness, 
and  of  my  boy,  and  of  many  things.  The  bell 
rang,  and  Mariuccia  brought  me  a  card  in  her  thick 
fingers  which  were  black  from  peeling  potatoes,  so 
that  the  mark  of  her  thumb  came  off  on  the  white 
pasteboard.  The  name  on  the  card  was  ^  Baron 
Ahasuerus  Benoni,"  and  there  was  no  address.  I 
told  her  to  show  the  signore  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  he  was  not  long  in  coming.  I  immediately 


190  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

recognized  the  man  Nino  had  described,  with  his 
unearthly  freshness  of  complexion,  his  eagle  nose, 
and  his  snow-white  hair.  I  rose  to  greet  him. 

"  Signer  Grandi,"  he  said,  "  I  trust  you  will  par 
don  my  intrusion.  I  am  much  interested  in  your 
boy,  the  great  tenor." 

"  Sir,"  I  replied,  "  the  visit  of  a  gentleman  is 
never  an  intrusion.  Permit  me  to  offer  you  a 
chair."  He  sat  down,  and  crossed  one  thin  leg 
over  the  other.  He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of 
the  fashion  ;  he  wore  patent-leather  shoes,  and  car 
ried  a  light  ebony  cane  with  a  silver  head.  His 
hat  was  perfectly  new,  and  so  smoothly  brushed 
that  it  reflected  a  circular  image  of  the  objects  in 
the  room.  But  he  had  a  certain  dignity  that  saved 
his  foppery  from  seeming  ridiculous. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  hear  some  news  of  Signer  Car- 
degna, —  your  boy,  for  he  is  nothing  else." 

"  Indeed,"  I  said,  "  I  should  be  very  glad.  Has 
he  written  to  you,  baron  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "We  are  not  intimate  enough  for  that. 
But  I  ran  on  to  Paris  the  other  day,  and  heard  him 
three  or  four  times,  and  had  him  to  supper  at  Big- 
non's.  He  is  a  great  genius,  your  boy,  and  has 
won  all  hearts." 

"  That  is  a  compliment  of  weight  from  so  distin 
guished  a  musician  as  yourself,"  I  answered ;  for, 
as  you  know,  Nino  had  told  me  all  about  his  play 
ing.  Indeed,  the  description  was  his,  which  is  the 
reason  why  it  is  so  enthusiastic. 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  191 

"  Yes,"  said  Benoni,  "  I  am  a  great  traveler,  and 
often  go  to  Paris  for  a  day  or  two.  I  know  every 
one  there.  Cardegna  had  a  perfect  ovation.  All 
the  women  sent  him  flowers,  and  all  the  men  asked 
him  to  dinner." 

"  Pardon  my  curiosity,"  I  interrupted,  "  but  as 
you  know  every  one  in  Paris,  could  you  inform  me 
whether  Count  von  Lira  and  his  daughter  are  there 
at  present  ?  He  is  a  retired  Prussian  officer."  Be- 
noni  stretched  out  one  of  his  long  arms  and  ran  his 
fingers  along  the  keys  of  the  piano  without  striking 
them.  He  could  just  reach  so  far  from  where  he 
sat.  He  gave  no  sign  of  intelligence,  and  I  felt 
sure  that  Nino  had  not  questioned  him. 

"  I  know  them  very  well,"  he  said  presently, 
"  but  I  thought  they  were  here." 

"  No,  they  left  suddenly  for  Paris,  a  month  ago." 

"'I  can  very  easily  find  out  for  you,"  said  Be 
noni,  his  bright  eyes  turning  on  me  with  a  search 
ing  look.  "  I  can  find  out  from  Lira's  banker, 
who  is  probably  also  mine.  What  is  the  matter 
with  that  young  man?  He  is  as  sad  as  Don 
Quixote." 

"  Nino  ?  He  is  probably  in  love,"  I  said,  rather 
indiscreetly. 

"  In  love  ?  Then  of  course  he  is  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Lira,  and  has  gone  to  Paris  to 
find  her,  and  cannot.  That  is  why  you  ask  me."  I 
was  so  much  astonished  at  the  quickness  of  his 
guess-work  that  I  stared,  open-mouthed. 

"  He  must  have  told  you !  "  I  exclaimed  at  last. 


192  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  In  the  course  of  a  long 
life  I  have  learned  to  put  two  and  two  together, 
that  is  all.  He  is  in  love,  he  is  your  boy,  and  you 
are  looking  for  a  certain  young  lady.  It  is  as  clear 
as  day."  But  in  reality  he  had  guessed  the  secret 
long  before. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I  humbly,  but  doubting  him, 
all  the  same,  "  I  can  only  admire  your  perspicacity. 
But  I  would  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  find 
out  where  they  are,  those  good  people.  You  seem 
to  be  a  friend  of  my  boy's,  baron.  Help  him,  and 
he  will  be  grateful  to  you.  It  is  not  such  a  very 
terrible  thing  that  a  great  artist  should  love  a  no 
ble's  daughter,  after  all,  though  I  used  to  think  so." 
Benoni  laughed,  that  strange  laugh  which  Nino  had 
described,  —  a  laugh  that  seemed  to  belong  to  an 
other  age. 

"  You  amuse  me  with  your  prejudices  about  no 
bility,"  he  said,  and  his  brown  eyes  flashed  and 
twinkled  again.  "  The  idea  of  talking  about  no 
bility  in  this  age !  You  might  as  well  talk  of  the 
domestic  economy  of  the  Garden  of  Eden." 

"  But  you  are  yourself  a  noble  —  a  baron,"  I 
objected. 

"  Oh,  I  am  anything  you  please,"  said  Benoni. 
"  Some  idiot  made  a  baron  of  me,  the  other  day, 
because  I  lent  him  money  and  he  could  not  pay 
it.  But  I  have  some  right  to  it,  after  all,  for  I  am 
a  Jew.  The  only  real  nobles  are  Welshmen  and 
Jews.  You  cannot  call  anything  so  ridiculously 
recent  as  the  European  upper  classes  a  nobility. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  193 

Now  I  go  straight  back  to  the  creation  of  the  world, 
like  all  my  countrymen.  The  Hibernians  get  a 
factitious  reputation  for  antiquity  by  saying  that 
Eve  married  an  Irishman  after  Adam  died,  and 
that  is  about  as  much  claim  as  your  European  no 
bles  have  to  respectability.  Bah !  I  know  their  be 
ginnings,  —  very  small  indeed." 

"  You,  also,  seem  to  have  strong  prejudices  on 
the  subject,"  said  I,  not  wishing  to  contradict  a 
guest  in  my  house. 

"  So  strong  that  it  amounts  to  having  no  preju 
dices  at  all.  Your  boy  wants  to  marry  a  noble 
damosel.  In  Heaven's  name,  let  him  do  it.  Let 
us  manage  it  amongst  us.  Love  is  a  grand  thing. 
I  have  loved  several  women  all  their  lives.  Do  not 
look  surprised.  I  am  a  very  old  man ;  they  have 
all  died,  and  at  present  I  am  not  in  love  with  any 
body.  I  suppose  it  cannot  last  long,  however.  I 
loved  a  woman  once  on  a  time  "  —  Benoni  paused. 
He  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  a  soliloquy,  and 
his  strange,  bright  face,  which  seemed  illuminated 
always  with  a  deathless  vitality,  became  dreamy 
and  looked  older.  But  he  recollected  himself,  and 
rose  to  go.  His  eye  caught  sight  of  the  guitar 
that  hung  on  the  wall. 

"Ah,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "music  is  better  than 
love,  for  it  lasts ;  let  us  make  music."  He  dropped 
his  hat  and  stick  and  seized  the  instrument.  In  an 
instant  it  was  tuned,  and  he  began  to  perform  the 
most  extraordinary  feats  of  agility  with  his  fingers 
that  I  ever  beheld.  Some  of  it  was  very  beautiful, 

13 


194  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

and  some  of  it  very  sad  and  wild,  but  I  understood 
Nino's  enthusiasm.  I  could  have  listened  to  the 
old  guitar  in  his  hands  for  hours  together,  —  I, 
who  care  little  for  music ;  and  I  watched  his  face. 
He  stalked  about  the  room  with  the  thing  in  his 
hands,  in  a  sort  of  wild  frenzy  of  execution.  His 
features  grew  ashy  pale,  and  his  smooth  white  hair 
stood  out  wildly  from  his  head.  He  looked,  then, 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  and  there  was  a 
sadness  and  a  horror  about  him  that  would  have 
made  the  stones  cry  aloud  for  pity.  I  could  not 
believe  he  was  the  same  man.  At  last  he  was  tired, 
and  stopped. 

"  You  are  a  great  artist,  baron,"  I  said.  "  Your 
music  seems  to  affect  you  much." 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  makes  me  feel  like  other  men,  for 
the  time,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Did  you  know 
that  Paganini  always  practiced  on  the  guitar  ?  It 
is  true.  Well,  I  will  find  out  about  the  Liras  for 
you  in  a  day  or  two,  before  I  leave  Rome  again." 

I  thanked  him,  and  he  took  his  leave. 


XII. 

BENONT  had  made  an  impression  on  me  that 
nothing  could  efface.  His  tall,  thin  figure  and 
bright  eyes  got  into  my  dreams  and  haunted  me, 
so  that  I  thought  my  nerves  were  affected.  For 
several  days  I  could  think  of  nothing  else,  and  at 
last  had  myself  bled,  and  took  some  cooling  barley 
water,  and  gave  up  eating  salad  at  night,  but  with 
out  any  perceptible  effect. 

Nino  wrote  often,  and  seemed  very  much  excited 
about  the  disappearance  of  the  contessina,  but  what 
could  I  do  ?  I  asked  every  one  I  knew,  and  nobody 
had  heard  of  them,  so  that  at  last  I  quite  gave  it 
over,  and  wrote  to  tell  him  so.  A  week  passed, 
then  a  fortnight,  and  I  had  heard  nothing  from 
Benoni.  Nino  wrote  again,  inclosing  a  letter  ad 
dressed  to  the  Contessina  di  Lira,  which  he  im 
plored  me  to  convey  to  her,  if  I  loved  him.  He 
said  he  was  certain  that  she  had  never  left  Italy. 
Some  instinct  seemed  to  tell  him  so,  and  she  was 
evidently  in  neither  London  nor  Paris,  for  he  had 
made  every  inquiry,  and  had  even  been  to  the  police 
about  it.  Two  days  after  this,  Benoni  came.  He 
looked  exactly  as  he  did  the  first  time  I  saw  him. 

"  I  have  news,"  he  said  briefly,  and  sat  down  in 
the  armchair,  striking  the  dust  from  his  boot  with 
his  little  cane. 


196  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  News  of  the  Graf  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes.  I  have  found  out  something.  They  never 
left  Italy  at  all,  it  seems.  I  am  rather  mystified, 
and  I  hate  mystification.  The  old  man  is  a  fool ; 
all  old  men  are  fools,  excepting  myself.  Will  you 
smoke?  No?  Allow  me,  then.  It  is  a  modern 
invention,  but  a  very  good  one."  He  lit  a  cigarette. 
"  I  wish  your  Liras  were  in  Tophet,"  he  continued, 
presently.  "  How  can  people  have  the  bad  taste  to 
hide  ?  It  only  makes  ingenious  persons  the  more 
determined  to  find  them."  Pie  seemed  talkative, 
and  as  I  was  so  sad  and  lonely  I  encouraged  him 
by  a  little  stimulus  of  doubt.  I  wish  I  had  doubted 
him  sooner,  and  differently. 

"  What  is  the  use  ?  "  I  asked.  "  We  shall  never 
find  them." 

" '  Never '  is  a  great  word,"  said  Benoni.  "  You 
do  not  know  what  it  means.  I  do.  But  as  for 
finding  them,  you  shall  see.  In  the  first  place,  I 
have  talked  with  their  banker.  He  says  the  count 
gave  the  strictest  orders  to  have  his  address  kept  a 
secret.  But,  being  one  of  my  people,  he  allowed 
himself  to  make  an  accidental  allusion  which  gave 
me  a  clue  to  what  I  wanted.  They  are  hidden 
somewhere  in  the  mountains." 

"  Diavolo !  among  the  brigands,  they  will  not  be 
very  well  treated,"  said  I. 

"The  old  man  will  be  careful.  He  will  keep 
clear  of  danger.  The  only  thing  is  to  find  them." 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"That  depends  on  the  most  illustrious  Signor 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  197 

Cardegna,"  said  Benoni,  smiling.  "  He  only  asked 
you  to  find  them.  He  probably  did  not  anticipate 
that  I  would  help  you." 

It  did  not  appear  to  me  that  Benoni  had  helped 
me  much,  after  all.  You  might  as  well  look  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack  as  try  to  find  any  one  who  goes 
to  the  Italian  mountains.  The  baron  offered  no 
further  advice,  and  sat  calmly  smoking  and  look 
ing  at  me.  I  felt  uneasy,  opposite  him.  He  was  a 
mysterious  person,  and  I  thought  him  disguised.  It 
was  really  not  possible  that  with  his  youthful  man 
ner  his  hair  should  be  naturally  so  white,  or  that 
he  should  be  so  old  as  he  seemed.  I  asked  him  the 
question  we  always  find  it  interesting  to  ask  for 
eigners,  hoping  to  lead  him  into  conversation. 

"How  do  you  like  our  Rome,  Baron  Benoni?  " 

"  Rome  ?  I  loathe  and  detest  it,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "There  is  only  one  place  in  the  whole 
world  that  I  hate  more." 

"  What  place  is  that  ? "  I  asked,  remembering 
that  he  had  made  the  same  remark  to  Nino  before. 

"Jerusalem,"  he  answered,  and  the  smile  faded 
on  his  face.  I  thought  I  guessed  the  reason  of  his 
dislike  in  his  religious  views.  But  I  am  very  liberal 
about  those  things. 

"I  think  I  understand  you,"  I  said ;  "  you  are  a 
Hebrew,  and  the  prevailing  form  of  religion  is  dis 
agreeable  to  you." 

"  No,  it  is  not  exactly  that,  —  and  yet,  perhaps  it 
is."  He  seemed  to  be  pondering  on  the  reason  of 
his  dislike. 


198  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  But  why  do  you  visit  these  places,  if  they  do 
not  please  you  ?  " 

"  I  come  here  because  I  have  so  many  agreeable 
acquaintances.  I  never  go  to  Jerusalem.  I  also 
come  here  from  time  to  time  to  take  a  bath.  The 
water  of  the  Trevi  has  a  peculiarly  rejuvenating 
effect  upon  me,  and  something  impels  me  to  bathe 
in  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  in  the  fountain  ?  Ah,  foreigners 
say  that  if  you  drink  the  water  by  moonlight  you 
will  return  to  Rome." 

"Foreigners  are  all  weak-minded  fools.  I  like 
that  word.  The  human  race  ought  to  be  called 
fools  generically,  as  distinguished  from  the  more 
intelligent  animals.  If  you  went  to  England,  you 
would  be  as  great  a  fool  as  any  Englishman  that 
comes  here  and  drinks  Trevi  water  by  moonlight. 
But  I  assure  you  I  do  nothing  so  vulgar  as  to  pat 
ronize  the  fountain,  any  more  than  I  would  pat 
ronize  Mazzarino's  church,  hard  by.  I  go  to  the 
source,  the  spring,  the  well  where  it  rises." 

"Ah,  I  know  the  place  well,"  I  said.  "It  is 
near  to  Serveti." 

"  Serveti  ?  Is  not  that  in  the  vicinity  of  Horace's 
villa?" 

"  You  know  the  country  well,  I  see,"  said  I,  sadly. 

"  I  know  most  things,"  answered  the  Jew,  with 
complacency.  "  You  would  find  it  hard  to  hit  upon 
anything  I  do  not  know.  Yes,  I  am  a  vain  man,  it 
is  true,  but  I  am  very  frank  and  open  about  it. 
Look  at  my  complexion.  Did  you  ever  see  any- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  199 

tiling  like  it  ?  It  is  Trevi  water  that  does  it."  I 
thought  such  excessive  vanity  very  unbecoming  in 
a  man  of  his  years,  but  I  could  not  help  looking 
amused.  It  was  so  odd  to  hear  the  old  fellow  des 
canting  on  his  attractions.  He  actually  took  a 
small  mirror  from  his  pocket,  and  looked  at  himself 
in  most  evident  admiration. 

"  I  really  believe,"  he  said  at  length,  pocketing 
the  little  looking-glass,  "  that  a  woman  might  love 
me  still.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Doubtless,"  I  answered  politely,  although  I  was 
beginning  to  be  annoyed,  "  a  woman  might  love 
you  at  first  sight.  But  it  would  be  more  dignified 
for  you  not  to  love  her." 

"  Dignity  !  "  He  laughed  long  and  loud,  a  cut 
ting  laugh,  like  the  breaking  of  glass.  "  There  is 
another  of  your  phrases.  Excuse  my  amusement, 
Signer  Grandi,  but  the  idea  of  dignity  always 
makes  me  smile."  He  called  that  thing  a  smile ! 
"  It  is  in  everybody's  mouth,  —  the  dignity  of  the 
state,  the  dignity  of  the  king,  the  dignity  of  woman, 
the  dignity  of  father,  mother,  schoolmaster,  soldier. 
Psh !  an  apoplexy,  as  you  say,  011  all  the  dignities 
you  can  enumerate.  There  is  more  dignity  in  a 
poor,  patient  ass  toiling  along  a  rough  road  under 
a  brutal  burden  than  in  the  entire  human  race  put 
together,  from  Adam  to  myself.  The  conception  of 
dignity  is  notional,  most  entirely.  I  never  see  a 
poor  wretch  of  a  general,  or  king,  or  any  such 
animal,  adorned  in  his  toggery  of  dignity,  without 
laughing  at  him,  and  his  dignity  again  leads  him  to 


200  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

suppose  that  my  smile  is  the  result  of  the  pleasur 
able  sensations  his  appearance  excites  in  me.  Na 
ture  has  dignity  at  times ;  some  animals  have  it ; 
but  man,  never.  What  man  mistakes  for  it  in  him 
self  is  his  vanity,  —  a  vanity  much  more  pernicious 
than  mine,  because  it  deceives  its  possessor,  who  is 
also  wholly  possessed  by  it,  and  is  its  slave.  I  have 
had  many  illusions  in  my  life,  Signor  Grandi." 
"  One  would  say,  baron,  that  you  had  parted 

them." 

^  Yes,  and  that  is  my  chief  vanity,  —  the  vanity 
of  vanities  which  I  prefer  to  all  the  others.  It  is 
only  a  man  of  no  imagination  who  has  no  vanity. 
He  cannot  imagine  himself  any  better  than  he  is. 
A  creative  genius  makes  for  his  own  person  a  '  self ' 
which  he  thinks  he  is,  or  desires  other  people  to  be 
lieve  him  to  be.  It  makes  little  difference  whether 
he  succeeds  or  not,  so  long  as  he  flatters  himself  he 
does.  He  complacently  takes  all  his  images  from 
the  other  animals,  or  from  natural  objects  and  phe 
nomena,  depicting  himself  bold  as  an  eagle,  brave 
as  a  lion,  strong  as  an  ox,  patient  as  an  ass,  vain  as 
a  popinjay,  talkative  as  a  parrot,  wily  as  a  serpent, 
gentle  as  a  dove,  cunning  as  a  fox,  surly  as  a  bear ; 
his  glance  is  lightning,  his  voice  thunder,  his  heart 
stone,  his  hands  are  iron,  his  conscience  a  hell, 
his  sinews  of  steel,  and  his  love  like  fire.  In  short, 
he  is  like  anything  alive  or  dead,  except  a  man, 
saving  when  he  is  mad.  Then  he  is  a  fool.  Only 
man  can  be  a  fool.  It  distinguishes  him  from  the 
higher  animals."  < 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  201 

I  cannot  describe  the  unutterable  scorn  that 
blazed  in  his  eyes  as  Benoni  poured  out  the  vials 
of  his  wrath  on  the  unlucky  human  race.  With 
my  views,  we  were  not  likely  to  agree  in  this  matter. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  right  can 
you  possibly  have  to  abuse  us  all  in  such  particular 
ly  strong  terms  ?  Do  you  ever  make  proselytes  to 
your  philosophy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  answering  my  last  question,  and 
recovering  his  serenity  with  that  strange  quickness 
of  transition  I  had  remarked  when  he  had  made 
music  during  his  previous  visit.  "  No,  they  all  die 
before  I  have  taught  them  anything."  . 

"  That  does  not  surprise  me,  baron,"  said  I.  He 
laughed  a  little. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  would  surprise  you  even  less 
if  you  knew  me  better,"  he  replied.  "  But  really,  I 
came  here  to  talk  about  Cardegna,  and  not  to  chat 
ter  about  that  contemptible  creature,  man,  who  is 
not  worth  a  moment's  notice,  I  assure  you.  I  be 
lieve  I  can  find  these  people,  and  I  confess  it  would 
amuse  me  to  see  the  old  man's  face  when  we  walk 
in  upon  him.  I  must  be  absent  for  a  few  days  on 
business  in  Austria,  and  shall  return  immediately, 
for  I  have  not  taken  my  bath  yet,  that  I  spoke  of. 
Now,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  I  would  propose  that 
we  go  to  the  hills,  on  my  return,  and  prosecute  our 
search  together  ;  writing  to  Nino  in  the  mean  time 
to  come  here  as  soon  as  he  has  finished  his  engage 
ment  in  Paris.  If  he  comes  quickly,  he  may  go 
with  us ;  if  not,  he  can  join  us.  At  all  events,  we 


202  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

can  have  a  very  enjoyable  tour  among  the  natives, 
who  are  charming  people,  quite  like  animals,  as  you 
ought  to  know." 

I  think  I  must  be  a  very  suspicious  person.  Cir 
cumstances  have  made  me  so,  and  perhaps  my  sus 
picions  are  very  generally  wrong.  It  may  be.  At 
all  events,  I  did  suspect  the  rich  and  dandified  old 
baron  of  desiring  to  have  a  laugh  by  putting  Nino 
into  some  absurd  situation.  He  had  such  strange 
views,  or,  at  least,  he  talked  so  oddly,  that  I  did 
not  believe  half  he  said.  It  is  not  possible  that 
anybody  should  seriously  hold  the  opinions  he  pro 
fessed. 
• 

When  he  was  gone  I  sat  alone,  pondering  on  the 
situation,  which  was  like  a  very  difficult  problem 
in  a  nightmare,  that  could  not  or  would  not  look 
sensible,  do  what  I.would.  It  chanced  that  I  got  a 
letter  from  Nino  that  evening,  and  I  confess  I  was 
reluctant  to  open  it,  fearing  that  he  would  reproach 
me  with  not  having  taken  more  pains  to  help  him. 
I  felt  as  though,  before  opening  the  envelope,  I 
should  like  to  go  back  a  fortnight  and  put  forth  all 
my  strength  to  find  the  contessina,  and  gain  a  com 
forting  sense  of  duty  performed.  If  I  had  only  done 
my  best,  how  easy  it  would  have  been  to  face  a 
whole  sheet  of  complaints !  Meanwhile  the  letter 
was  come,  and  I  had  done  nothing  worth  mention 
ing.  I  looked  at  the  back  of  it,  and  my  conscience 
smote  me  ;  but  it  had  to  be  accomplished,  and  at 
last  I  tore  the  cover  off  and  read. 

Poor  Nino  !    He  said  he  was  ill  with  anxiety,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  203 

feared  it  would  injure  his  voice.  He  said  that 
to  break  his  engagement  and  come  back  to  Rome 
would  be  ruin  to  him.  He  must  face  it  out,  or  take 
the  legal  consequences  of  a  breach  of  contract,  which 
are  overwhelming  to  a  young  artist.  He  detailed 
all  the  efforts  Be  had  made  to  find  Hedwig,  pursu 
ing  every  little  sign  and  clue  that  seemed  to  present 
itself ;  all  to  no  purpose.  The  longer  he  thought  of 
it,  the  more  certain  he  was  that  Hedwig  was  not  in 
Paris  or  London.  She  might  be  anywhere  else  in 
the  whole  world,  but  she  was  certainly  not  in  either 
of  those  cities.  Of  that  he  was  convinced.  He  felt 
like  a  man  who  had  pursued  a  beautiful  image  to 
the  foot  of  a  precipitous  cliff  ;  the  rock  had  opened 
and  swallowed  up  his  dream,  leaving  him  standing 
alone  in  hopeless  despair ;  and  a  great  deal  more 
poetic  nonsense  of  that  kind. 

I  do  not  believe  I  had  ever  realized  what  he  so 
truly  felt  for  Hedwig,  until  I  sat  at  my  table  with 
his  letter  before  me,  overcome  with  the  sense  of  my 
own  weakness  in  not  having  effectually  checked 
this  mad  passion  at  its  rise ;  or,  since  it  had  grown 
so  masterfully,  of  my  wretched  procrastination  in 
not  having  taken  my  staff  in  my  hand  and  gone 
out  into  the  world  to  find  the  woman  my  boy  loved 
and  bring  her  to  him.  By  this  time,  I  thought,  I 
should  have  found  her.  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  his  being  ill,  suffering,  heart-broken,  —  ruined, 
if  he  lost  his  voice  by  an  illness,  —  merely  because 
I  had  not  had  the  strength  to  do  the  best  thing  for 
him.  Poor  Nino,  I  thought,  you  shall  never  say 


204  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

again  that  Cornelio  Grand!  has  not  done  what  was 
in  his  power  to  make  you  happy. 

"  That  baron !  an  apoplexy  on  him !  has  illuded 
me  with  his  promises  of  help,"  I  said  to  myself. 
"  He  has  no  more  intention  of  helping  me  or  Nino 
than  he  has  of  carrying  off  the  basilica  of  St.  Peter. 
Courage,  Cornelio !  thou  must  gird  up  thy  loins, 
and  take  a  little  money  in  thy  scrip,  and  find  Hed- 
wig  von  Lira." 

All  that  night  I  lay  awake,  trying  to  think  how 
I  might  accomplish  this  end  ;  wondering  to  which 
point  of  the  compass  I  should  turn,  and  above  all 
reflecting  that  I  must  make  great  sacrifices.  But 
my  boy  must  have  what  he  wanted,  since  he  was 
consuming  himself,  as  we  say,  in  longing  for  it.  It 
seemed  to  me  no  time  for  counting  the  cost,  when 
every  day  might  bring  upon  him  a  serious  illness. 
If  he  could  only  know  that  I  was  acting,  he  would 
allow  his  spirits  to  revive  and  take  courage. 

In  the  watches  of  the  night  I  thought  over  my 
resources,  which,  indeed,  were  meagre  enough  ;  for 
I  am  a  very  poor  man.  It  was  necessary  to  take 
a  great  deal  of  money,  for  once  away  from  Rome 
no  one  could  tell  when  I  might  return.  My  salary 
as  professor  is  paid  to  me  quarterly,  and  it  was  yet 
some  weeks  to  the  time  when  it  was  due.  I  had 
only  a  few  francs  remaining,  —  not  more  than 
enough  to  pay  my  rent  and  to  feed  Mariuccia  and 
me.  I  had  paid  at  Christmas  the  last  installment 
due  on  my  vineyard  out  of  Porta  Salara,  and 
though  I  owed  no  man  anything  I  had  no  money, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  205 

and  no  prospect  of  any  for  some  time.  And  yet  I 
could  not  leave  home  on  a  long  journey  without  at 
least  two  hundred  scudi  in  my  pocket.  A  scudo 
is  a  dollar,  and  a  dollar  has  five  francs,  so  that  I 
wanted  a  thousand  francs.  You  see,  in  spite  of 
the  baron's  hint  about  the  mountains,  I  thought  I 
might  have  to  travel  all  over  Italy  before  I  satis 
fied  Nino. 

A  thousand  francs  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  —  it 
is  a  Peru,  as  we  say.  I  had  not  the  first  sou  to 
ward  it.  I  thought  a  long  time.  I  wondered  if 
the  old  piano  were  worth  anything ;  whether  any 
body  would  give  me  money  for  my  manuscripts,  the 
results  of  patient  years  of  labor  and  study ;  my  old 
gold  scarf-pin,  my  seal  ring,  and  even  my  silver 
watch,  which  keeps  really  very  good  time,  —  what 
were  they  worth  ?  But  it  would  not  be  much,  not 
the  tenth  part  of  what  I  wanted.  I  was  in  de 
spair,  and  I  tried  to  sleep.  Then  a  thought  came 
to  me. 

"I  am  a  donkey,"  I  said.  "  There  is  the  vine 
yard  itself,  —  my  little  vineyard  beyond  Porta  Sa- 
lara.  It  is  mine,  and  is  worth  half  as  much  again 
as  I  need."  And  I  slept  quietly  till  morning. 

It  is  true,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  natural,  that  in  the 
daylight  my  resolution  looked  a  little  differently  to 
me  than  it  did  in  the  quiet  night.  I  had  toiled  and 
scraped  a  great  deal  more  than  you  know  to  buy 
that  small  piece  of  land,  and  it  seemed  much  more 
my  own  than  all  Serveti  had  ever  been  in  my  better 
days.  Then  I  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  and  read 


206  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Nino's  letter  over  again,  though  it  pained  me  very 
much ;  for  I  needed  courage.  And  when  I  had 
read  it,  I  took  some  papers  in  my  pocket,  and  put 
on  my  hat  and  my  old  cloak,  which  Nino  will  never 
want  any  more  now  for  his  midnight  serenades,  and 
I  went  out  to  sell  my  little  vineyard. 

"  It  is  for  my  boy,"  I  said,  to  give  myself  some 
comfort. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  want  to  buy,  and  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  want  to  sell.  All  day  I  went  from 
one  man  to  another  with  my  papers,  —  all  the 
agents  who  deal  in  those  things ;  but  they  only  said 
they  thought  it  might  be  sold  in  time  ;  it  would 
take  many  days,  and  perhaps  weeks. 

"  But  I  want  to  sell  it  to-day,"  I  explained. 

"  We  are  very  sorry,"  said  they,  with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders ;  and  they  showed  me  the  door. 

I  was  extremely  down-hearted,  and  though  I 
could  not  sell  my  piece  of  land  I  spent  three  sous 
in  buying  two  cigars  to  smoke,  and  I  walked  about 
the  Piazza  Colonna  in  the  sun  ;  I  would  not  go 
home  to  dinner  until  I  had  decided  what  to  do. 
There  was  only  one  man  I  had  not  tried,  and  he 
was  the  man  who  had  sold  it  to  me.  Of  course  I 
knew  people  who  do  this  business,  for  I  had  had 
enough  trouble  to  learn  their  ways  when  I  had  to 
sell  Serveti,  years  ago.  But  this  one  man  I  had 
not  tried  yet,  because  I  knew  that  he  would  drive  a 
cruel  bargain  with  me  when  he  saw  I  wanted  the 

o 

money.  But  at  last  I  went  to  him,  and  told  him 
just  what  my  wishes  were. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  207 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a  very  bad  time  for  sell 
ing  land.  But  to  oblige  you,  because  you  are  a 
customer,  I  will  give  you  eight  hundred  francs  for 
your  little  place.  That  is  really  much  more  than  I 
can  afford." 

"  Eight  hundred  francs  !  "  I  exclaimed  in  de 
spair.  "  But  I  have  paid  you  nearly  twice  as  much 
for  it  in  the  last  three  years  !  What  do  you  take 
me  for  ?  To  sell  such  a  gem  of  a  vineyard  for 
eight  hundred  francs  !  If  you  offer  me  thirteen 
hundred  I  will  discuss  the  matter  with  you." 

"  I  have  known  you  a  long  time,  Signor  Grandi, 
and  you  are  an  honest  man.  I  am  sure  you  do  not 
wish  to  deceive  me.  I  will  give  you  eight  hundred 
and  fifty." 

Deceive  him,  indeed !  The  very  man  who  had 
received  fifteen  hundred  from  me  said  I  deceived 
him  when  I  asked  thirteen  hundred  for  the  same 
piece  of  land  !  But  I  needed  it  very  much,  and  so, 
bargaining  and  wrangling,  I  got  one  thousand  and 
seventy-five  francs  in  bank-notes  ;  and  I  took  care 
they  should  all  be  good  ones,  too.  It  was  a  poor 
price,  I  know,  but  I  could  do  no  better,  and  I  went 
home  happy.  But  I  dared  not  tell  Mariuccia.  She 
is  only  my  servant,  to  be  sure,  but  she  would  have 
torn  me  in  pieces. 

Then  I  wrote  to  the  authorities  at  the  university 
to  say  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  Rome  suddenly, 
and  would  of  course  not  claim  my  salary  during 
my  absence.  But  I  added  that  I  hoped  they  would 
not  permanently  supplant  me.  If  they  did,  I  knew 


208  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

I  should  be  ruined.  Then  I  told  Mariuccia  that  I 
was  going  away  for  some  days  to  the  country,  and 
I  left  her  the  money  to  pay  the  rent,  and  her  wages, 
and  a  little  more,  so  that  she  might  be  provided  for 
if  I  were  detained  very  long.  I  went  out  again  and 
telegraphed  to  Nino,  to  say  I  was  going  at  once  in 
search  of  the  Liras,  and  begging  him  to  come 
home  as  soon  as  he  should  have  finished  his  en 
gagement. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Mariuccia  was  very  curious  to 
know  where  I  was  going,  and  asked  me  many  ques 
tions,  which  I  had  some  trouble  in  answering.  But 
at  last  it  was  night  again,  and  the  old  woman  went 
to  bed  and  left  me.  Then  I  went  on  tiptoe  to  the 
kitchen,  and  found  a  skein  of  thread  and  two 
needles,  and  set  to  work. 

I  knew  the  country  whither  I  was  going  very 
well,  and  it  was  necessary  to  hide  the  money  I  had 
in  some  ingenious  way.  So  I  took  two  waistcoats, 
—  one  of  them  was  quite  good  still,  —  and  I  sewed 
them  together,  and  basted  the  bank-notes  between 
them.  It  was  a  clumsy  piece  of  tailoring,  though 
it  took  me  so  many  hours  to  do  it.  But  I  had  put 
the  larger  waistcoat  outside  very  cunningly,  so  that 
when  I  had  put  on  the  two,  you  could  not  see  that 
there  was  anything  beneath  the  outer  one.  I  think 
I  was  very  clever  to  do  this  without  a  woman  to 
help  me.  Then  I  looked  to  my  boots,  and  chose 
my  oldest  clothes,  —  and  you  may  guess,  from  what 
you  know  of  me,  how  old  they  were,  —  and  T  made 
a  little  bundle  that  I  could  carry  in  my  hand,  with 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  209 

a  change  of  linen,  and  the  like.  These  things  I 
made  ready  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  I  slept  with 
the  two  waistcoats  and  the  thousand  francs  under 
my  pillow,  though  I  suppose  nobody  would  have 
chosen  that  particular  night  for  robbing  me. 

All  these  preparations  had  occupied  me  so  much 
that  I  had  not  found  any  time  to  grieve  over  my 
poor  little  vineyard  that  I  had  sold ;  and  besides,  I 
was  thinking  all  the  while  of  Nino,  and  how  glad 
he  would  be  to  know  that  I  was  really  searching  for 
Hedwig.  But  when  I  thought  of  the  vines,  it  hurt 
me  ;  and  I  think  it  is  only  long  after  the  deed  that 
it  seems  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

But  at  last  I  slept,  as  tired  folk  will,  leaving  care 
to  the  morrow  ;  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  daybreak, 
and  Mariuccia  was  clattering  angrily  with  the  tin 
coffee-pot  outside.  It  was  a  bright  morning,  and 
the  goldfinch  sang,  and  I  could  hear  him  scattering 
the  millet  -seed  about  his  cage  while  I  dressed. 
And  then  the  parting  grew  very  near,  and  I  drank 
my  coffee  silently,  wondering  how  soon  it  would  be 
over,  and  wishing  that  the  old  woman  would  go 
out  and  let  me  have  my  house  alone.  But  she 
would  not,  and  to  my  surprise  she  made  very  little 
worry  or  trouble,  making  a  great  show  of  being 
busy.  When  I  was  quite  ready,  she  insisted  on 
putting  a  handful  of  roasted  chestnuts  into  my 
pocket,  and  she  said  she  would  pray  for  me.  The 
fact  is,  she  thought,  foolish  old  creature  as  she  is, 
that  I  was  old  and  in  poor  health,  and  she  had 
often  teased  me  to  go  into  the  country  for  a  few 

14 


210  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

days,  so  that  she  was  not  ill  pleased  that  I  should 
seem  to  take  her  advice.  She  stood  looking  after 
me  as  I  trudged  along  the  street,  with  my  bundle 
and  my  good  stick  in  my  right  hand,  and  a  lighted 
cigar  in  my  left. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  ought  first  to  try 
the  direction  hinted  at  by  the  baron,  since  I  had 
absolutely  no  other  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the 
Count  von  Lira  and  his  daughter.  I  therefore  got 
into  the  old  stage  that  still  runs  to  Palestrina  and 
the  neighboring  towns,  for  it  is  almost  as  quick  as 
going  by  rail,  and  much  cheaper  ;  and  half  an  hour 
later  we  rumbled  out  of  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo, 
and  I  had  entered  upon  the  strange  journey  to 
find  Hedwig  von  Lira,  concerning  which  frivolous 
people  have  laughed  so  unkindly.  And  you  may 
call  me  a  foolish  old  man  if  you  like.  I  did  it  for 
my  boy. 


XIII. 

I  WENT  to  Palestrina  because  all  foreigners  go 
there,  and  are  to  be  heard  of  from  other  parts  of 
the  mountains  in  that  place.  It  was  a  long  and 
tiresome  journey ;  the  jolting  stage-coach  shook  me 
very  much.  There  was  a  stout  woman  inside,  with 
a  baby  that  squealed ;  there  was  a  very  dirty  old 
country  curate,  who  looked  as  though  he  had  not 
shaved  for  a  week,  or  changed  his  collar  for  a 
month.  But  he  talked  intelligently,  though  Jie 
talked  too  much,  and  he  helped  to 'pass  the  time 
until  I  was  weary  of  him.  We  jolted  along  over 
the  dusty  roads,  and  were  at  least  thankful  that  it 
was  not  yet  hot. 

In  the  evening  we  arrived  at  Palestrina,  and 
stopped  before  the  inn  in  the  market-place,  as  tired 
and  dusty  as  might  be.  The  woman  went  one  way, 
and  the  priest  the  other,  and  I  was  left  alone.  I 
soon  found  the  fat  old  host,  and  engaged  a  room 
for  the  night.  He  was  talkative  and  curious,  and 
sat  by  my  side  when  he  had  prepared  my  supper  in 
the  dingy  dining-room  down-stairs.  I  felt  quite  sure 
that  he  would  be  able  to  tell  me  what  I  wanted,  or 
at  least  to  give  me  a  hint  from  hearsay.  But  he 
at  once  began  to  talk  of  last  year,  and  how  much 


212  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

better  his  business  had  been  then  than  it  was  now, 
as  country  landlords  invariably  do. 

It  was  to  no  purpose  that  I  questioned  him  about 
the  people  that  had  passed  during-  the  fortnight,  the 
month,  the  two  months,  back ;  it  was  clear  that  no 
one  of  the  importance  of  my  friends  had  been  heard 
of.  At  last  I  was  tired,  and  he  lit  a  wax  candle, 
which  he  would  carefully  charge  in  the  bill  after 
wards,  at  double  its  natural  price,  and  he  showed 
me  the  way  to  my  room.  It  was  a  very  decent  little 
room,  with  white  curtains  and  a  good  bed  and  a 
table,  —  everything  I  could  desire.  A  storm  had 
come  up  since  I  had  been  at  my  supper,  and  it 
seemed  a  comfortable  thing  to  go  to  bed,  although 
I  was  disappointed  at  having  got  no  news. 

But  when  I  had  blown  out  my  candle,  determin 
ing  to  expostulate  with  the  host  in  the  morning,  if 
he  attempted  to  make  me  pay  for  a  whole  one,  I 
lay  thinking  of  what  I  should  do  ;  and  turning  on 
my  side,  I  observed  that  a  narrow  crack  of  the 
door  admitted  rays  of  light  into  the  darkness  of 
my  chamber.  Now  I  am  very  sensitive  to  draughts 
and  inclined  to  take  cold,  and  the  idea  that  there 
was  a  door  open  troubled  me,  so  that  at  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  get  up  and  close  it.  As  I  rose  to 
my  feet,  I  perceived  that  it  was  not  the  door  by 
which  I  had  entered ;  and  so,  before  shutting  it,  I 
called  out,  supposing  there  might  be  some  one  in 
the  next  room. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said  loudly,  "  I  will  shut  this 
door."  But  there  was  no  reply. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  213 

Curiosity  is  perhaps  a  vice,  but  it  is  a  natural 
one.  Instead  of  pulling  the  door  to  its  place,  I 
pushed  it  a  little,  knocking  with  my  knuckles  at 
the  same  time.  But  as  no  one  answered,  I  pushed 
it  further,  and  put  in  my  head.  It  was  a  disagree 
able  thing  I  saw. 

The  room  was  like  mine  in  every  way,  save  that 
the  bed  was  moved  to  the  middle  of  the  open  space, 
and  there  were  two  candles  on  two  tables.  On  the 
bed  lay  a  dead  man.  I  felt  what  we  call  a  brivido, 
—  a  shiver  like  an  ague. 

It  was  the  body  of  an  old  man,  with  a  face  like 
yellow  wax,  and  a  singularly  unpleasant  expression 
even  in  death.  His  emaciated  hands  were  crossed 
on  his  breast,  and  held  a  small  black  crucifix.  The 
candles  stood,  one  at  the  head  and  one  at  the  foot, 
on  little  tables.  I  entered  the  room  and  looked 
long  at  the  dead  old  man.  I  thought  it  strange 
that  there  should  be  no  one  to  watch  him,  but  I  am 
not  afraid  of  dead  men,  after  the  first  shudder  is 
past.  It  was  a  ghastly  sight  enough,  however,  and 
the  candles  shed  a  glaring,  yellowish  light  over 
it  all. 

"  Poor  wretch,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  went  back 
to  my  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  me. 

At  first  I  thought  of  rousing  the  host,  and  ex 
plaining  to  him  my  objections  to  being  left  almost  in 
the  same  room  with  a  corpse.  But  I  reflected  that 
it  would  be  foolish  to  seem  afraid  of  it,  when  I  was 
really  not  at  all  timid,  and  so  I  went  to  bed,  and 
slept  until  dawn.  But  when  I  went  down-stairs  I 


214  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

found  the  innkeeper,  and  gave  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind. 

"  What  sort  of  an  inn  do  you  keep  ?  What 
manners  are  these  ? "  I  cried  angrily.  "  What 
diavolo  put  into  your  pumpkin  head  to  give  me  a 
sepulchre  for  a  room  ?  " 

He  seemed  much  disturbed  at  what  I  said,  and 
broke  out  into  a  thousand  apologies.  But  I  was 
not  to  be  so  easily  pacified. 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  demanded,  "  that  I  will  ever 
come  here  again,  or  advise  any  of  my  friends  to 
come  here  ?  It  is  insufferable.  I  will  write  to  the 
police  "  —  But  at  this  he  began  to  shed  tears  and 
to  wring  his  hands,  saying  it  was  not  his  fault. 

"  You  see,  signore,  it  was  my  wife  who  made  me 
arrange  it  so.  Oh  !  these  women  —  the  devil  has 
made  them  all !  It  was  her  father  —  the  old  dead 
man  you  saw.  He  died  yesterday  morning,  —  may 
he  rest !  —  and  we  will  bury  him  to-day.  You  see 
every  one  knows  that  unless  a  dead  man  is  watched 
by  some  one  from  another  town  his  soul  will  not 
rest  in  peace.  My  wife's  father  was  a  jettatore ; 
he  had  the  evil  eye,  and  people  knew  it  for  miles 
around,  so  I  could  not  persuade  any  one  from  the 
other  villages  to  sit  by  him  and  watch  his  body, 
though  I  sent  everywhere  all  day  yesterday.  At 
last  that  wife  of  mine  —  maledictions  on  her  folly ! 
—  said,  '  It  is  my  father,  after  all,  and  his  soul 
must  rest,  at  any  price.  If  you  put  a  traveler  in 
the  next  room,  and  leave  the  door  open,  it  will  be 
the  same  thing  ;  and  so  he  will  be  in  peace.'  That 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  215 

is  the  way  it  happened,  signore,"  he  continued, 
after  wiping  away  his  tears ;  "  you  see  I  could  not 
help  it  at  all.  But  if  you  will  overlook  it,  I  will 
not  make  any  charges  for  your  stay.  My  wife  shall 
pay  me.  She  has  poultry  by  the  hundred.  I  will 
pay  myself  with  her  chickens." 

"  Very  good,"  said  I,  well  pleased  at  having 
got  so  cheap  a  lodging.  "  But  I  am  a  just  man, 
and  I  will  pay  for  what  I  have  eaten  and  drunk, 
and  you  can  take  the  night's  lodging  out  of  your 
wife's  chickens,  as  you  say."  So  we  were  both  sat 
isfied.1 

The  storm  of  the  night  had  passed  away,  leav 
ing  everything  wet  and  the  air  cool  and  fresh.  I 
wrapped  my  cloak  about  me,  and  went  into  the 
market-place,  to  see  if  I  could  pick  up  any  news. 
It  was  already  late,  for  the  country,  and  there  were 
few  people  about.  Here  and  there,  in  the  streets, 
a  wine-cart  was  halting  on  its  way  to  Rome,  while 
the  rough  carter  went  through  the  usual  arrange 
ment  of  exchanging  some  of  his  employer's  wine 
for  food  for  himself,  filling  up  the  barrel  with  good 
pure  water,  that  never  hurt  any  one.  I  wandered 
about,  though  I  could  not  expect  to  see  any  face 
that  I  knew ;  it  is  so  many  years  since  I  lived  at 
Serveti,  that  even  were  the  carters  from  my  old 
place,  I  should  have  forgotten  how  they  looked. 
Suddenly,  at  the  corner  of  a  dirty  street,  where 
there  was  a  little  blue  and  white  shrine  to  the  Ma- 

1  This  incident  actually  occurred,  precisely  as  related.  — 
F.  M.  C. 


216  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

donna,  I  stumbled  against  a  burly  fellow  with  a 
gray  beard,  carrying  a  bit  of  salt  codfish  in  one 
hand  and  a  cake  of  corn  bread  in  the  other,  eating 
as  he  went. 

"  Gigi !  "  I  cried  in  delight,  when  I  recognized 
the  old  carrettiere  who  used  to  bring  me  grapes 
and  wine,  and  still  does  when  the  fancy  takes  him. 

"  Dio  mio !  Signer  Conte !  "  he  cried  with  his 
mouth  full,  and  holding  up  the  bread  and  fish  with 
his  two  hands,  in  astonishment.  When  he  re 
covered  himself,  he  instantly  offered  to  share  his 
meal  with  me,  as  the  poorest  wretch  in  Italy  will 
offer  his  crust  to  the  greatest  prince,  out  of  polite 
ness.  "  Vuol  favorire  ?  "  he  said,  smiling. 

I  thanked  him  and  declined,  as  you  may  im 
agine.  Then  I  asked  him  how  he  came  to  be  in 
Palestrina ;  and  he  told  me  that  he  was  often  there 
in  the  winter,  as  his  sister  had  married  a  vine 
dresser  of  the  place,  of  whom  he  bought  wine  oc 
casionally.  Very  well-to-do  people,  he  explained 
eagerly,  proud  of  his  prosperous  relations. 

We  clambered  along  through  the  rough  street 
together,  and  I  asked  him  what  was  the  news  from 
Serveti  and  from  that  part  of  the  country,  well 
knowing  that  if  he  had  heard  of  any  rich  foreign 
ers  in  that  neighborhood  he  would  at  once  tell  me 
of  it.  But  I  had  not  much  hope.  He  talked 
about  the  prospects  of  the  vines,  and  such  things, 
for  some  time,  and  I  listened  patiently. 

"  By  the  bye,"  he  said  at  last,  "  there  is  a  gran 
signore  who  is  gone  to  live  in  Fillettino,  —  a  crazy 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  217 

man,  they  say,  with,  a  beautiful  daughter,  but  really 
beautiful,  as  an  angel." 

I  was  so  much  surprised  that  I  made  a  loud  ex 
clamation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Gigi. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Gigi,"  I  answered,  for  I  was 
afraid  lest  he  should  betray  my  secret,  if  I  let  him 
guess  it.  "  It  is  nothing.  I  struck  my  foot  against 
a  stone.  But  you  were  telling  about  a  foreigner 
who  is  gone  to  live  somewhere.  Fillettino  ?  Where 
is  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  place  of  the  diavolo  !  I  do  not  wonder 
you  do  not  know,  conte,  for  gentlemen  never  go 
there.  "It  is  in  the  Abruzzi,  beyond  Trevi.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio,  where 
so  many  people  have  been  killed  ?  " 

"  Diana !  I  should  think  so  !   In  the  old  days  "  — 

"  Bene,"  said  Gigi,  "  Fillettino  is  there,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  pass." 

"  Tell  me,  Gigi  mio,"  I  said,  "  are  you  not  very 
thirsty?  "  The  way  to  the  heart  of  the  wine  carter 
lies  through  a  pint  measure.  Gigi  was  thirsty,  as 
I  supposed,  and  we  sat  down  in  the  porch  of  my 
inn,  and  the  host  brought  a  stoup  of  his  best  wine 
and  set  it  before  us. 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  about  the  crazy  foreigner 
who  is  gone  to  live  in  the  hills  among  the  bri- 
ganti,"  I  said,  when  he  had  wet  his  throat. 

"  What  I  know  I  will  tell  you,  Signor  Conte," 
he  answered,  filling  his  pipe  with  bits  that  he  broke 
off  a  cigar.  "  But  I  know  very  little.  He  must 


218  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

be  a  foreigner,  because  he  goes  to  such  a  place; 
and  he  is  certainly  crazy,  for  he  shuts  his  daughter 
in  the  old  castle,  and  watches  her  as  though  she 
was  made  of  wax,  like  the  flowers  you  have  in 
Rome  under  glass." 

"  How  long  have  they  been  there,  these  queer 
folks?"  I  asked. 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  It  may  be  a  month  or  two. 
A  man  told  me,  who  had  come  that  way  from 
Fucino,  and  that  is  all  I  know." 

"  Do  people  often  travel  that  way,  Gigi  ?  " 

"  Not  often,  indeed,"  he  answered,  with  a  grin. 
"  They  are  not  very  civil,  the  people  of  those 
parts."  Gigi  made  a  gesture,  or  a  series  of  ges 
tures.  He  put  up  his  hands  as  though  firing  a  gun. 
Then  he  opened  his  right  hand  and  closed  it,  with 
a  kind  of  insinuating  twirl  of  the  fingers,  which 
means  "  to  steal."  Lastly  he  put  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  and  looked  through  his  fingers  as  though 
they  were  bars,  which  means  "  prison."  From  this 
I  inferred  that  the  inhabitants  of  Fillettino  were 
addicted  to  murder,  robbery,  and  other  pastimes, 
for  which  they  sometimes  got  into  trouble.  The 
place  he  spoke  of  is  about  thirty  miles,  or  some 
thing  more,  from  Palestrina,  and  I  began  planning 
how  I  should  get  there  as  cheaply  as  possible.  I 
had  never  been  there,  and  wondered  what  kind  of  a 
habitation  the  count  had  found  ;  for  I  knew  it  must 
be  the  roughest  sort  of  mountain  town,  with  some 
dilapidated  castle,  or  other,  overhanging  it.  But  the 
count  was  rich,  and  he  had  doubtless  made  himself 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  219 

very  comfortable.  I  sat  in  silence,  while  Gigi 
finished  his  wine,  and  chatted  about  his  affairs  be 
tween  the  whiffs  of  his  pipe. 

"  Gigi,"  I  said  at  last, "  I  want  to  buy  a  donkey." 

"Eh,  your  excellency  can  be  accommodated; 
and  a  saddle,  too,  if  you  wish." 

"  I  think  I  could  ride  without  a  saddle,"  I  said, 
for  I  thought  it  a  needless  piece  of  extravagance. 

"  Madonna  mia ! "  he  cried.  "  The  Signer  Conte 
ride  bareback  on  a  donkey !  They  would  laugh  at 
you.  But  my  brother-in-law  can  sell  you  a  beast 
this  very  day,  and  for  a  mere  song." 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  the  beast,"  I  said.  I  felt  a 
little  ashamed  of  having  wished  to  ride  without  a 
saddle.  But  as  I  had  sold  all  I  had,  I  wanted  to 
make  the  money  last  as  long  as  possible ;  or  at  least 
I  would  spend  as  little  as  I  could,  and  take  some 
thing  back,  if  I  ever  went  home  at  all.  We  had 
not  far  to  go,  and  Gigi  opened  a  door  in  the  street 
and  showed  me  a  stable,  in  which  something  moved 
in  the  darkness.  Presently  he  led  out  an  animal 
and  began  to  descant  upon  its  merits. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  more  beautiful  donkey?" 
asked  Gigi  admiringly.  "  It  looks  like  a  horse !  " 
It  was  a  little  ass,  with  sad  eyes,  and  ears  as  long 
as  its  tail.  It  was  also  very  thin,  and  had  the  hair 
rubbed  off  its  back  from  carrying  burdens.  But  it 
had  no  sore  places,  and  did  not  seem  lame. 

"  Pie  is  full  of  fire,"  said  Gigi,  poking  the  donkey 
in  the  ribs  to  excite  a  show  of  animation.  "You 
should  see  him  gallop  up  hill  with  my  brother  on 


220  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

his  back,  and  a  good  load  into  the  bargain.  Brrrr ! 
Stand  still,  will  you !  "  he  cried,  holding  tight  by 
the  halter,  though  the  animal  did  not  seem  anxious 
to  run  away. 

"  And  then,"  said  Gigi,  "  he  eats  nothing,  — 
positively  nothing." 

"  He  does  not  look  as  though  he  had  eaten  much 
of  late,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  my  brother-in-law  is  as  good  to  him  as 
though  he  were  a  Christian.  He  gives  him  corn 
bread  and  fish,  just  like  his  own  children.  But  this 
ass  prefers  straw." 

"  A  frugal  ass,"  I  said,  and  we  began  to  bargain. 
I  will  not  tell  you  what  I  gave  Gigi's  brother-in-law 
for  the  beast,  because  you  would  laugh.  And  I 
bought  an  old  saddle,  too.  It  was  really  necessary, 
but  it  was  a  dear  bargain,  though  it  was  cheaper 
than  hiring ;  for  I  sold  the  donkey  and  the  saddle 
again,  and  got  back  something. 

It  is  a  wild  country  enough  that  lies  behind  the 
mountains  towards  the  sources  of  the  Aniene,  — 
the  river  that  makes  the  falls  at  Tivoli.  You  could 
not  half  understand  how  in  these  times,  under  the 
new  government,  and  almost  within  a  long  day's 
ride  from  Rome,  such  things  could  take  place  as  I 
am  about  to  tell  you  of,  unless  I  explained  to  you 
how  very  primitive  that  country  is  which  lies  to 
the  southeast  of  the  capital,  and  which  we  gener 
ally  call  the  Abruzzi.  The  district  is  wholly  moun 
tainous,  and  though  there  are  no  very  great  ele 
vations  there  are  very  ragged  gorges  and  steep 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  221 

precipices,  and  now  and  then  an  -inaccessible  bit  of 
forest  far  up  among  the  rocks,  which  no  man  has 
ever  thought  of  cutting  down.  It  would  be  quite 
impossible  to  remove  the  timber.  The  people  are 
mostly  shepherds  in  the  higher  regions,  where  there 
are  no  vines,  and  when  opportunity  offers  they  will 
waylay  the  unwary  traveler  and  rob  him,  and  even 
murder  him,  without  thinking  very  much  about  it. 
In  the  old  days,  the  boundary  between  the  Papal 
States  and  the  kingdom  of  Naples  ran  through  these 
mountains,  and  the  contrabbandieri  —  the  smugglers 
of  all  sorts  of  wares  —  used  to  cross  from  one  do 
minion  to  the  other  by  circuitous  paths  and  steep 
ways  of  which  only  a  few  had  knowledge.  The 
better  known  of  these  passes  were  defended  by  sol 
diers  and  police,  but  there  have  been  bloody  fights 
fought,  within  a  few  years,  between  the  law  and  its 
breakers.  Foreigners  never  penetrate  into  the  re 
cesses  of  these  hills,  and  even  the  English  guide 
books,  which  are  said  to  contain  an  account  of 
everything  that  the  Buon  Dio  ever  made,  compiled 
from  notes  taken  at  the  time  of  the  creation,  make 
no  mention  of  places  which  surpass  in  beauty  all 
the  rest  of  Italy  put  together. 

No  railroad  or  other  modern  innovation  pene 
trates  into  those  Arcadian  regions,  where  the  goat 
herd  plays  upon  his  pipe  all  the  day  long,  the  pic 
ture  of  peace  and  innocence,  or  prowls  in  the  passes 
with  a  murderous  long  gun,  if  there  are  foreigners 
in  the  air.  The  women  toil  at  carrying  their  scant 
supply  of  drinking-water  from  great  distances  dur- 


222  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

ing  a  part  of  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  they  spin 
industriously  by  their  firesides  or  upon  their  door 
steps,  as  the  season  will  have  it.  It  is  an  old  life, 
the  same  to-day  as  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  per 
haps  as  it  will  be  a  thousand  years  hence.  The 
men  are  great  travelers,  and  go  to  Rome  in  the 
winter  to  sell  their  cheese,  or  to  milk  a  flock  of 
goats  in  the  street  at  daybreak,  selling  the  foaming 
canful  for  a  sou.  But  their  visits  to  the  city  do 
not  civilize  them  ;  the  outing  only  broadens  the  ho 
rizon  of  their  views  in  regard  to  foreigners,  and 
makes  them  more  ambitious  to  secure  one,  and  see 
what  he  is  like,  and  cut  off  his  ears,  and  get  his 
money.  Do  not  suppose  that  the  shepherd  of  the 
Abruzzi  lies  all  day  on  the  rocks  in  the  sun,  wait 
ing  for  the  foreign  gentleman  to  come  within  reach. 
He  might  wait  a  long  time.  Climbing  has  strength 
ened  the  muscles  of  his  legs  into  so  much  steel, 
and  a  party  of  herdsmen  have  been  known  to  come 
down  from  the  Serra  to  the  plains  around  Velletri, 
and  to  return  to  their  inaccessible  mountains,  after 
doing  daring  deeds  of  violence,  in  twenty-four  hours 
from  the  time  of  starting ;  covering  at  least  from 
eighty  to  ninety  miles  by  the  way.  They  are  ex 
traordinary  fellows,  as  active  as  tigers,  and  fabu 
lously  strong,  though  they  are  never  very  big. 

This  country  begins  behind  the  range  of  Sabine 
mountains  seen  from  Rome  across  the  Campagna, 
and  the  wild  character  of  it  increases  as  you  go  to 
wards  the  southeast. 

Since  I  have  told  you  this  much,  I  need  not 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  223 

weary  you  with  further  descriptions.  I  do  not  like 
descriptions,  and  it  is  only  when  Nino  gives  me  his 
impressions  that  I  write  them,  in  order  that  you  may 
know  how  beautiful  things  impress  him,  and  the 
better  judge  of  his  character. 

I  do  not  think  that  Gigi  really  cheated  me  so 
very  badly  about  the  donkey.  Of  course  I  do  not 
believe  the  story  of  his  carrying  the  brother-in-law 
and  the  heavy  load  uphill  at  a  gallop ;  but  I  am 
thin  and  not  very  heavy,  and  the  little  ass  carried 
me  well  enough  through  the  valleys,  and  when  we 
came  to  a  steep  place  I  would  get  off  and  walk,  so 
as  not  to  tire  him  too  much.  If  he  liked  to  crop  a 
thistle  or  a  blade  of  grass,  I  would  stop  a  moment, 
for  I  thought  he  would  grow  fatter  in  that  way,  and 
I  should  not  lose  so  much  when  I  sold  him  again. 
But  he  never  grew  very  fat. 

Twice  I  slept  by  the  way,  before  I  reached  the 
end  of  my  journey,  —  once  at  Olevano,  and  once  at 
Trevi ;  for  the  road  from  Olevano  to  Trevi  is  long, 
and  some  parts  are  very  rough,  especially  at  first. 
I  could  tell  you  just  how  every  stone  on  the  road 
looks  —  Rojate,  the  narrow  pass  beyond,  and  then 
the  long  valley  with  the  vines ;  then  the  road  turns 
away  and  rises  as  you  go.  along  the  plateau  of  Ar- 
cinazzo,  which  is  hollow  beneath,  and  you  can  hear 
the  echoes  as  you  tread ;  then  at  the  end  of  that 
the  desperate  old  inn,  called  by  the  shepherds  the 
Madre  dei  Briganti,  —  the  mother  of  brigands,  — 
smoke-blackened  within  and  without,  standing  alone 
on  the  desolate  heath ;  further  on,  a  broad  bend  of 


224  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  valley  to  the  left,  and  you  see  Trevi  rising  be 
fore  you,  crowned  with  an  ancient  castle,  and  over 
looking  the  stream  that  becomes  the  Aniene  after 
wards  ;  from  Trevi  through  a  rising  valley  that 
grows  narrower  at  every  step,  and  finally  seems  to 
end  abruptly,  as  indeed  it  does,  in  a  dense  forest 
far  up  the  pass.  And  just  below  the  woods  lies 
the  town  of  Fillettino,  where  the  roads  ends;  for 
there  is  a  road  which  leads  to  Tivoli,  but  does  not 
communicate  with  Olevano,  whence  I  had  come. 

Of  course  I  had  made  an  occasional  inquiry  by 
the  way,  when  I  could  do  so  without  making  people 
too  curious.  When  any  one  asked  me  where  I  was 
going,  I  would  say  I  was  bound  for  Fucino,  to  buy 
beans  for  seed  at  the  wonderful  model  farm  that 
Toiionia  has  made  by  draining  the  old  lake.  And 
then  I  would  ask  about  the  road ;  and  sometimes  I 
was  told  there  was  a  strange  foreigner  at  Fillettino, 
who  made  everybody  wonder  about  him  by  his  pe 
culiar  mode  of  life.  Therefore,  when  I  at  last  saw 
the  town,  I  was  quite  sure  that  the  count  was  there, 
and  I  got  off  my  little  donkey,  and  let  him  drink 
in  the  stream,  while  I  myself  drank  a  little  higher 
up.  The  road  was  dusty,  and  my  donkey  and  I 
were  thirsty. 

I  thought  of  all  I  would  do,  as  I  sat  on  the  stone 
by  the  water,  and  the  beast  cropped  the  wretched 
grass ;  and  soon  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  did 
not  know  in  the  least  what  I  should  do.  I  had  un 
expectedly  found  what  I  wanted,  very  soon,  and  I 
was  thankful  enough  to  have  been  so  lucky.  But 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  225 

I  had  not  the  first  conception  of  what  course  I  was 
to  pursue  when  once  I  had  made  sure  of  the  count. 
Besides,  it  was  barely  possible  that  it  was  not  he, 
after  all,  but  another  foreigner,  with  another 
daughter.  The  thought  frightened  me,  but  I  drove 
it  away.  If  it  were  really  old  Lira  who  had  chosen 
this  retreat  in  which  to  imprison  his  daughter  and 
himself,  I  asked  myself  whether  I  could  do  any 
thing,  save  send  word  to  Nino  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  felt  like  a  sort  of  Don  Quixote,  suddenly 
chilled  into  the  prosaic  requirements  of  common 
sense.  Perhaps  if  Hedwig  had  been  my  Dulcinea, 
instead  of  Nino's,  the  crazy  fit  would  have  lasted, 
and  I  would  have  attempted  to  scale  the  castle  wall 
and  carry  off  the  prize  by  force.  There  is  no  tell 
ing  what  a  sober  old  professor  of  philosophy  may 
not  do,  when  he  is  crazy.  But  meanwhile  I  was 
sane.  Graf  von  Lira  had  a  right  to  live  anywhere 
lie  pleased  with  his  daughter,  and  the  fact  that  I 
had  discovered  the  spot  where  he  pleased  to  live 
did  not  constitute  an  introduction.  Or  finally,  if  I 
got  access  to  the  old  count,  what  had  I  to  say  to 
him  ?  Ought  I  to  make  a  formal  request  for  Nino  ? 
I  looked  at  my  old  clothes,  and  almost  smiled. 

But  the  weather  was  cold,  though  the  roads  were 
dusty ;  so  I  mounted  my  ass  and  jogged  along, 
meditating  deeply. 

15 


XIV. 

FILLETTINO  is  a  trifle  cleaner  than  most  towns  of 
the  same  kind.  Perhaps  it  rains  more  often,  and 
there  are  fewer  people.  Considering  that  its  vicin 
ity  has  been  the  scene  of  robbery,  murder,  and  all 
manner  of  adventurous  crime  from  time  immemo 
rial,  I  had  expected  to  find  it  a  villainous  place.  It 
is  nothing  of  the  kind.  There  is  a  decent  appear 
ance  about  it  that  is  surprising ;  and  though  the 
houses  are  old  and  brown  and  poor,  I  did  not  see 
pigs  in  many  rooms,  nor  did  the  little  children  beg 
of  me,  as  they  beg  of  every  one  elsewhere.  The 
absence  of  the  pigs  struck  me  particularly,  for  in 
the  Sabine  towns  they  live  in  common  with  the 
family,  and  go  out  only  in  the  daytime  to  pick  up 
what  they  can  get. 

I  went  to  the  apothecary  —  there  is  always  an 
apothecary  in  these  places  —  and  inquired  for  a 
lodging.  Before  very  long  I  had  secured  a  room, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  people  were  accustomed  to 
travelers,  for  it  was  surprisingly  clean.  The  bed 
was  so  high  that  I  could  touch  the  ceiling  when  I 
sat  on  it,  and  the  walls  were  covered  with  orna 
ments,  such  as  glazed  earthenware  saints,  each  with 
a  little  basin  for  holy  water,  some  old  engravings  of 
other  saints,  a  few  paper  roses  from  the  last  fair, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  227 

and  a  weather-beaten  game-pouch  of  leather.  The 
window  looked  out  over  a  kind  of  square,  where  a 
great  quantity  of  water  ran  into  a  row  of  masonry 
tanks  out  of  a  number  of  iron  pipes  projecting  from 
an  overhanging  rock.  Above  the  rock  was  the  cas 
tle,  the  place  I  had  come  to  see,  towering  up  against 
the  darkening  sky. 

It  is  such  a  strange  place  that  I  ought  to  describe 
it  to  you,  or  you  will  not  understand  the  things  that 
happened  there.  There  is  a  great  rock,  as  I  said, 
rising  above  the  town,  and  upon  this  is  built  the 
feudal  stronghold,  so  that  the  walls  of  the  building 
do  not  begin  less  than  forty  feet  from  the  street 
level.  The  height  of  the  whole  castle  consequently 
seems  enormous.  The  walls,  for  the  most  part,  fol 
low  the  lines  of  the  gray  rock,  irregularly,  as  chance 
would  have  it,  and  the  result  is  a  three-cornered 
pile,  having  a  high  square  tower  at  one  angle, 
where  also  the  building  recedes  some  yards  from 
the  edge  of  the  cliff,  leaving  on  that  side  a  broad 
terrace  guarded  by  a  stone  parapet.  On  another 
side  of  the  great  isolated  bowlder  a  narrow  road 
way  heads  up  a  steep  incline,  impracticable  for  car 
riages,  but  passable  for  four-footed  beasts ;  and 
this  path  gives  access  to  the  castle  through  a  heavy 
gate  opening  upon  a  small  court  within.  But  the 
rock  itself  has  been  turned  to  account,  and  there 
are  chambers  within  it,  which  formerly  served  as 
prisons,  opening  to  the  right  and  left  of  a  narrow 
staircase,  hewn  out  of  the  stone,  and  leading  from 
the  foot  of  the  tower  to  the  street  below;  upon 


228  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

which  it  opens  through  a  low  square  door,  set  in 
the  rock  and  studded  with  heavy  iron  nails. 

Below  the  castle  hangs  the  town,  and  behind  it 
rises  the  valley,  thickly  wooded  with  giant  beech- 
trees.  Of  course  I  learned  the  details  of  the  inte 
rior  little  by  little,  and  I  gathered  also  some  inter 
esting  facts  regarding  the  history  of  Fillettino, 
which  are  not  in  any  way  necessary  to  my  story. 
The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  find  out  what  means  of 
communication  there  were  with  Rome.  There  was 
a  postal  service  twice  a  week,  and  I  was  told  that 
Count  von  Lira,  whose  name  was  no  secret  in  the 
village,  sent  messengers  very  often  to  Subiaco. 
The  post  left  that  very  day,  and  I  wrote  to  Nino  to 
tell  him  that  I  had  found  his  friends  in  villeggia- 
tura  at  Fillettino,  advising  him  to  come  as  soon  as 
he  could,  and  recruit  his  health  and  his  spirits. 

I  learned,  further,  from  the  woman  who  rented 
me  my  lodging,  that  there  were  other  people  in  the 
castle  besides  the  count  and  his  daughter.  At 
least,  she  had  seen  a  tall  gentleman  on  the  terrace 
with  them  during  the  last  two  days ;  and  it  was  not 
t^ue  that  the  count  kept  Hedwig  a  prisoner.  On 
the  contrary,  they  rode  out  together  almost  every 
day,  and  yesterday  the  tall  gentleman  had  gone 
with  them.  The  woman  also  went  into  many  de 
tails;  telling  me  how  much  money  the  count  had 
spent  in  a  fortnight,  bringing  furniture  and  a  real 
piano  and  immense  loads  of  baskets,  which  the  por 
ters  were  told  contained  glass  and  crockery,  and 
must  be  carefully  handled.  It  was  clear  that  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  229 

count  was  settled  for  some  time.  He  had  probably 
taken  the  old  place  for  a  year,  by  a  lease  from  the 
Roman  family  to  whom  Fillettino  and  the  neigh 
boring  estates  belong.  He  would  spend  the  spring 
and  the  summer  there,  at  least. 

Being  anxious  to  see  who  the  tall  gentleman 
might  be,  of  whom  my  landlady  had  spoken,  I 
posted  myself  in  the  street,  at  the  foot  of  the  in 
clined  bridle-path  leading  to  the  castle  gate.  I 
walked  up  and  down  for  two  hours,  about  the  time 
I  supposed  they  would  all  ride,  hoping  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  party.  Neither  the  count  nor  his 
daughter  knew  me  by  sight,  I  was  sure,  and  I  felt 
quite  safe.  It  was  a  long  time  to  wait,  but  at  last 
they  appeared,  and  I  confess  that  I  nearly  fell  down 
against  the  wall  when  I  saw  them. 

There  they  were  on  their  horses,  moving  cau 
tiously  down  the  narrow  way  above  me.  First 
came  the  count,  sitting  in  his  saddle  as  though  he 
were  at  the  head  of  his  old  regiment,  his  great  gray 
mustaches  standing  out  fiercely  from  his  severe, 
wooden  face.  Then  came  Hedwig,  whom  I  had 
not  seen  for  a  long  time,  looking  as  white  and  sor 
rowful  as  the  angel  of  death,  in  a  close  black  dress, 
or  habit,  so  that  her  golden  hair  was  all  the  color 
there  was  to  be  seen  about  her. 

But  the  third  rider,  —  there  was  no  mistaking 
that  thin,  erect  figure,  dressed  in  the  affectation  of 
youth ;  those  fresh  pink  cheeks,  with  the  snowy 
mustache,  and  the  thick  white  hair  showing  beneath 
the  jaunty  hat ;  the  eagle  nose  and  the  bright  eyes. 
Baron  Benoni,  and  no  other. 


230  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

My  first  instinct  was  to  hide  myself ;  but  before 
I  could  retreat,  Benoni  recognized  me,  even  with 
my  old  clothes.  Perhaps  they  are  not  so  much 
older  than  the  others,  compared  with  his  fashion 
able  garments.  He  made  no  sign  as  the  three  rode 
by ;  only  I  could  see  by  his  eyes,  that  were  fixed 
angrily  upon  me,  that  he  knew  me,  and  did  not 
wish  to  show  it.  As  for  myself,  I  stood  stock  still 
in  amazement. 

I  had  supposed  that  Benoni  had  really  gone  to 
Austria,  as  he  had  told  me  he  was  about  to  do.  I 
had  thought  him  ignorant  of  the  count's  retreat, 
save  for  the  hint  which  had  so  luckily  led  me 
straight  to  the  mark.  I  had  imagined  him  to  be 
but  a  chance  acquaintance  of  the  Lira  family,  hav 
ing  little  or  no  personal  interest  in  their  doings. 
Nevertheless,  I  had  suspected  him,  as  I  have  told 
you.  Everything  pointed  to  a  deception  on  his 
part.  He  had  evidently  gone  immediately  from 
Rome  to  Fillettino.  He  must  be  intimate  with  the 
count,  or  the  latter  would  not  have  invited  him  to 
share  a  retreat  seemingly  intended  to  be  kept  a 
secret.  He  also,  I  thought,  must  have  some  very 
strong  reason  for  consenting  to  bury  himself  in  the 
mountains  in  company  with  a  father  and  daughter 
who  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  each  other. 

But  again,  why  had  he  seemed  so  ready  to  help 
me  and  to  forward  Nino's  suit?  Why  had  he 
given  me  the  smallest  clue  to  the  count's  where 
abouts  ?  Now  I  am  not  a  strong  man  in  action, 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  231 

perhaps,  but  I  am  a  very  cunning  reasoner.  I  re 
membered  the  man,  and  the  outrageous  opinions  he 
had  expressed,  both  to  Nino  and  to  me.  Then  I 
understood  my  suspicions.  It  would  be  folly  to 
expect  such  a  man  to  have  any  real  sympathy  or 
sense  of  friendship  for  any  one.  He  had  amused 
himself  by  promising  to  come  back  and  go  with  me 
on  my  search,  perhaps  to  make  a  laughing-stock  of 
me,  or  even  of  my  boy,  by  telling  the  story  to  the 
Liras  afterwards.  He  had  entertained  no  idea  that 
I  would  go  alone,  or  that,  if  I  went,  I  could  be  suc 
cessful.  He  had  made  a  mistake,  and  was  very 
angry ;  his  eyes  told  me  that.  Then  I  made  a  bold 
resolution.  I  would  see  him  and  ask  him  what 
he  intended  to  do ;  in.  short,  why  he  had  deceived 
me. 

There  would  probably  be  no  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  obtaining  an  interview.  I  was  not  known  to 
the  others  of  the  party,  and  Benoui  would  scarcely 
refuse  to  receive  me.  I  thought  he  would  excuse 
himself,  with  ready  cynicism,  and  pretend  to  con 
tinue  his  offers  of  friendship  and  assistance.  I 
confess,  I  regretted  that  I  was  so  humbly  clad,  in 
all  my  old  clothes ;  but,  after  all,  I  was  traveling, 
you  know. 

It  was  a  bold  resolution,  I  think,  and  I  revolved 
the  situation  in  my  mind  during  two  days,  thinking 
over  what  I  should  say.  But  with  all  my  thought 
I  only  found  that  everything  must  depend  on  Be- 
noni's  answer  to  my  own  question  —  "  Why  ?  " 

On  the  third  day,  I  made  myself  look  as  fine  as 


232  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

I  could,  and  though  my  heart  beat  loudly  as  I 
mounted  the  bridle-path,  I  put  on  a  bold  look  and 
rang  the  bell.  It  was  a  clanging  thing,  that  seemed 
to  creak  on  a  hinge,  as  I  pulled  the  stout  string 
from  outside.  A  man  appeared,  and  on  my  inquiry 
said  I  might  wait  in  the  porch  behind  the  great 
wooden  gate,  while  he  delivered  my  message  to 
his  excellency  the  baron.  It  seemed  to  take  a  long 
time,  and  I  sat  on  a  stone  bench,  eyeing  the  court 
yard  curiously  from  beneath  the  archway.  It  was 
sunny  and  clean,  with  an  old  well  in  the  middle, 
but  I  could  see  nothing  save  a  few  windows  open 
ing  upon  it.  At  last  the  man  returned  and  said 
that  I  might  come  with  him. 

I  found  Benoni,  clad  in  a  gorgeous  dressing- 
gown,  stalking  up  and  down  a  large  vaulted  apart 
ment,  in  which  there  were  a  few  new  armchairs,  a 
table  covered  with  books,  and  a  quantity  of  ancient 
furniture,  that  looked  unsteady  and  fragile,  although 
it  had  been  carefully  dusted.  A  plain  green  baize 
carpet  covered  about  half  the  floor,  and  the  re 
mainder  was  of  red  brick.  The  morning  sun 
streamed  in  through  tall  windows,  and  played  in 
a  rainbow-like  effulgence  on  the  baron's  many 
colored  dressing-gown,  as  he  paused  in  his  walk 
to  greet  me. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  Benoni  gayly,  "  how  in 
the  name  of  the  devil  did  you  get  here  ? "  I 
thought  I  had  been  right;  he  was  going  to  play 
at  being  my  friend  again. 

"  Very  easily,  by  the  help  of  your  little  hint,"  I 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  233 

replied  ;  and  I  seated  myself,  for  I  felt  that  I  was 
master  of  the  situation. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  suspected  you  of  being  so  intel 
ligent,  I  would  not  have  given  you  any  hint  at  all. 
You  see  I  have  not  been  to  Austria  on  business, 
but  am  here  in  this  good  old  flesh  of  mine,  such  as 
it  is." 

"  Consequently  "  —  I  began,  and  then  stopped. 
I  suddenly  felt  that  Benoni  had  turned  the  tables 
upon  me,  I  could  not  tell  how. 

"Consequently,"  said  he,  continuing  my  sen 
tence,  "  when  I  told  you  that  I  was  going  to  Austria 
I  was  lying." 

"  The  frankness  of  the  statement  obliges  me  to 
believe  that  you  are  now  telling  the  truth,"  I  an 
swered  angrily.  I  felt  uneasy.  Benoni  laughed 
in  his  peculiar  way. 

"  Precisely,"  he  continued  again,  "  I  was  lying. 
I  generally  do,  for  so  long  as  I  am  believed  I  de 
ceive  people  ;  and  when  they  find  me  out,  they  are 
confused  between  truth  and  lying,  so  that  they  do 
not  know  what  to  believe  at  all.  By  the  bye,  I  am 
wandering.  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here.  I  hope 
you  understand  that."  He  looked  at  me  with  the 
most  cheerful  expression.  I  believe  I  was  begin 
ning  to  be  angry  at  his  insulting  calmness.  I  did 
not  answer  him. 

"  Signer  Grandi."  he  said  in  a  moment,  seeing 
I  was  silent,  "  I  am  enchanted  to  see  you,  if  you 
prefer  that  I  should  be.  But  may  I  imagine  if  I 
can  do  anything  more  for  you,  now  that  you  have 


234  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

heard  from  my  own  lips  that  I  am  a  liar  ?  I  say  it 
again,  —  I  like  the  word,  —  I  am  a  liar,  and  I  wish 
I  were  a  better  one.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  why  you  have  acted  this  comedy,"  said 
I,  recollecting  at  the  right  moment  the  gist  of  my 
reflections  during  the  past  two  days. 

"  Why  ?  To  please  myself,  good  sir ;  for  the  sov 
ereign  pleasure  of  myself." 

"  I  would  surmise,"  I  retorted,  "  that  it  could 
not  have  been  for  the  pleasure  of  any  one  else." 

"  Perhaps  you  mean,  because  no  one  else  could 
be  base  enough  to  take  pleasure  in  what  amuses 
me  ?  "  I  nodded  savagely  at  his  question.  "  Very 
good.  Knowing  this  of  me,  do  you  further  surmise 
that  I  should  be  so  simple  as  to  tell  you  how  I 
propose  to  amuse  myself  in  the  future  ?  "  I  recog 
nized  the  truth  of  this,  and  I  saw  myself  check 
mated  at  the  outset.  I  therefore  smiled  and  en 
deavored  to  seem  completely  satisfied,  hoping  that 
his  vanity  would  betray  him  into  some  hint  of  the 
future.  He  seemed  to  have  before  taken  pleasure 
in  misleading  me  with  a  fragment  of  truth,  suppos 
ing  that  I  could  not  make  use  of  it.  I  would  en 
deavor  to  lead  him  into  such  a  trap  again. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  country,  is  it  not  ? "  I  re 
marked,  going  to  the  window  before  which  he  stood, 
and  looking  out.  "  You  must  enjoy  it  greatly, 
after  the  turmoil  of  society."  You  see,  I  was  once 
as  gay  as  any  of  them,  in  the  old  days ;  and  so  I 
made  the  reflection  that  seemed  natural  to  his  case, 
wondering  how  he  would  answer. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  235 

"  It  is  indeed  a  very  passable  landscape,"  he  said 
indifferently.  "  With  horses  and  a  charming  com 
panion  one  may  kill  a  little  time  here,  and  find  a 
satisfaction  in  killing  it."  I  noticed  the  slip,  by 
which  he  spoke  of  a  single  companion  instead  of 
two. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  the  count  is  said  to  be  a  most 
agreeable  man." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  the  hesitation  seemed 
to  show  that  the  count  was  not  the  companion  he 
had  in  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  the  count  is 
very  agreeable,  and  his  daughter  is  the  paragon  of 
all  the  virtues  and  accomplishments."  There  was 
something  a  little  disparaging  in  his  tone  as  he 
made  the  last  remark,  which  seemed  to  me  a  clumsy 
device  to  throw  me  off  the  scent,  if  scent  there 
were.  Considering  his  surpassing  personal  van 
ity,  of  which  I  had  received  an  ocular  demonstra 
tion  when  he  visited  me  in  Rome,  I  fancied  that  if 
there  were  nothing  more  serious  in  his  thoughts  he 
would  have  given  me  to  understand  that  Hedwig 
found  him  entirely  irresistible.  Since  he  was  able 
to  control  his  vanity,  there  must  be  a  reason  for  it. 

"I  should  think  that  the  contessina  must  be 
charmed  at  having  so  brilliant  a  companion  as 
yourself  in  her  solitude,"  I  said,  feeling  my  way 
to  the  point. 

"With  me?  I  am  an  old  man.  Children  of 
that  age  detest  old  men."  I  thought  his  manner 
constrained,  and  it  was  unlike  him  not  to  laugh  as 


236  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

he  made  the  speech.  The  conviction  grew  upon 
me  that  Heclwig  was  the  object  of  his  visit.  More 
over,  I  became  persuaded  that  he  was  but  a  poor 
sort  of  villain,  for  he  was  impulsive,  as  villains 
should  never  be.  We  leaned  over  the  stone  sill  of 
the  window,  which  he  had  opened  during  the  con 
versation.  There  was  a  little  trail  of  ants  climbing 
up  and  down  the  wall  at  the  side,  and  he  watched 
them.  One  of  the  small  creatures,  heavily  laden 
with  a  seed  of  some  sort,  and  toiling  painfully 
under  the  burden,  had  been  separated  from  the 
rest,  and  clambered  over  the  edge  of  the  window- 
sill.  On  reaching  the  level  surface  it  paused,  as 
though  very  weary,  and  looked  about,  moving  its 
tiny  horns.  Benoni  looked  at  it  a  moment,  and 
then  with  one  finger  he  suddenly  whisked  the  poor 
little  thing  into  space.  It  hurt  me  to  see  it,  and 
I  knew  he  must  be  cruel,  for  he  laughed  aloud. 
Somehow,  it  would  have  seemed  less  cruel  to  have 
brushed  away  the  whole  trail  of  insects,  rather 
than  to  pitch  upon  this  one  small,  tired  workman, 
overladen  and  forgotten  by  the  rest. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?  "  I  asked  involuntarily. 

"  Why  ?  Why  do  I  do  anything  ?  Because  I 
please,  the  best  of  all  reasons." 

"  Of  course,  it  was  foolish  of  me  to  ask  you. 
That  is  probably  the  cause  of  your  presence  here. 
You  would  like  to  hurl  my  boy  Nino  from  the 
height  he  has  reached  in  his  love,  and  to  satisfy 
your  cruel  instincts  you  have  come  here  to  attack 
the  heart  of  an  innocent  girl."  I  watched  him  nar- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  237 

rowly,  and  I  have  often  wondered  how  I  had  the 
courage  to  insult  him.  It  was  a  bold  shot  at  the 
truth,  and  his  look  satisfied  me  that  I  was  not  very 
wide  of  the  mark.  To  accuse  a  gray-haired  old 
man  of  attempting  to  win  the  affections  of  a  young 
girl  would  seem  absurd  enough.  But  if  you  had 
ever  seen  Benoni,  you  would  understand  that  he 
was  anything  but  old,  save  for  his  snowy  locks. 
Many  a  boy  might  envy  the  strange  activity  of  his 
thin  limbs,  the  bloom  and  freshness  of  his  eager 
face,  and  the  fire  of  his  eyes.  He  was  impulsive, 
too  ;  for  instead  of  laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
thing,  or  at  what  should  have  been  its  absurdity,  as 
a  more  accomplished  villain  would  have  done,  he 
was  palpably  angry.  He  looked  quickly  at  me  and 
moved  savagely,  so  that  I  drew  back,  and  it  was 
not  till  some  moments  later  that  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  ought  to  seem  amused. 

"How  ridiculous!"  he  cried  at  last,  mastering 
his  anger.  "  You  are  joking." 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  am  joking,"  I  answered,  leav 
ing  the  window.  "  And  now  I  must  wish  you  good- 
morning,  with  many  apologies  for  my  intrusion." 
He  must  have  been  glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  but  he 
politely  insisted  on  showing  me  to  the  gate.  Per 
haps  he  wanted  to  be  sure  that  I  should  not  ask 
questions  of  the  servants. 

As  we  passed  through  an  outer  hall,  we  came 
sxiddenly  upon  Hedwig,  entering  from  the  opposite 
direction,  dressed  in  black,  and  looking  like  a  beau 
tiful  shadow  of  pain.  As  I  have  told  you,  she  did 


238  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

not  know  me.  Benoni  bowed  to  the  ground,  as  she 
went  by,  making  some  flattering  speech  about  her 
appearance.  She  had  started  slightly  on  first  see 
ing  us,  and  then  she  went  on  without  speaking ; 
but  there  was  on  her  face  a  look  of  such  sovereign 
scorn  and  loathing  as  I  never  saw  on  the  features 
of  any  living  being.  And  more  than  scorn,  for 
there  was  fear  and  hatred  with  it ;  so  that  if  a 
glance  could  tell  a  whole  history,  there  would  have 
been  no  detail  of  her  feeling  for  Benoni  left  to 
guess. 

This  meeting  produced  a  profound  impression  on 
me,  and  I  saw  her  face  in  my  dreams  that  night. 
Had  anything  been  wanting  to  complete,  in  my 
judgment,  the  plan  of  the  situation  in  the  castle, 
that  something  was  now  supplied.  The  Jew  had 
come  there  to  get  her  for  himself.  She  hated  him 
for  his  own  sake  ;  she  hated  him  because  she  was 
faithful  to  Nino  ;  she  hated  him  because  he  per 
haps  knew  of  her  secret  love  for  my  boy.  Poor 
maiden,  shut  up  for  days  and  weeks  to  come  with 
a  man  she  dreaded  and  scorned  at  once !  The 
sight  of  her  recalled  to  me  that  I  had  in  my  pocket 
the  letter  Nino  had  sent  me  for  her,  weeks  before, 
and  which  I  had  found  no  means  of  delivering  since 
I  had  been  in  Fillettino.  Suddenly  I  was  seized 
with  a  mad  determination  to  deliver  it  at  any  cost. 
The  baron  bowed  me  out  of  the  gate,  and  I  paused 
outside  when  the  ponderous  door  had  swung  on  its 
hinges  and  his  footsteps  were  echoing  back  through 
the  court. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  239 

I  sat  down  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridle-path,  and 
with  my  knife  cut  some  of  the  stitches  that  sewed 
my  money  between  my  two  waistcoats.  I  took  out 
one  of  the  bills  of  a  hundred  francs  that  were  con 
cealed  within,  I  found  the  letter  Nino  had  sent  me 
for  Hedwig,  and  I  once  more  rang  the  bell.  The 
man  who  had  admitted  me  came  again,  and  looked 
at  me  in  some  astonishment.  But  I  gave  him  no 
time  to  question  me. 

"  Here  is  a  note  for  a  hundred  francs,"  I  said. 
"  Take  it,  and  give  this  letter  to  the  Signora  Con- 
tessina.  If  you  bring  me  a  written  answer  here 
to-morrow  at  this  hour,  I  will  give  you  as  much 
more."  The  man  was  dumfounded  for  a  moment, 
after  which  he  clutched  the  money  and  the  letter 
greedily,  and  hid  them  in  his  coat. 

"Your  excellency  shall  be  punctually  obeyed," 
he  said,  with  a  ^deep  bow,  and  I  went  away. 

It  was  recklessly  extravagant  of  me  to  do  this, 
but  there  was  no  other  course.  A  small  bribe 
would  have  been  worse  than  none  at  all.  If  you 
can  afford  to  pay  largely,  it  is  better  to  bribe  a 
servant  than  to  trust  a  friend.  Your  friend  has 
nothing  to  gain  by  keeping  your  secret,  whereas  the 
servant  hopes  for  more  money  in  the  future,  and 
the  prospect  of  profit  makes  him  as  silent  as  the 
grave. 

I  would  certainly  not  have  acted  as  I  did,  had  I 
not  met  Hedwig  in  the  hall.  But  the  sight  of  her 
pale  face  and  heavy  eyes  went  to  my  heart,  and  I 
would  have  given  the  whole  of  my  little  fortune  to 


240  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

bring  some  gladness  to  her,  even  though  I  might 
not  see  it.  The  situation,  too,  was  so  novel  and 
alarming  that  I  felt  obliged  to  act  quickly,  not 
knowing  what  evils  delay  might  produce. 

On  the  following  morning  I  went  up  to  the  gate 
way  again  and  rang  the  bell.  The  same  man  ap 
peared.  He  slipped  a  note  into  my  hand,  and  I 
slipped  a  bill  into  his.  But,  to  my  surprise,  he  did 
not  shut  the  door  and  retire. 

"  The  signorina  said  your  excellency  should  read 
the  note,  and  I  should  accompany  you,"  he  said  ; 
and  I  saw  he  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  as  if  ready  to 
go.  I  tore  open  the  note.  It  merely  said  that  the 
servant  was  trustworthy,  and  would  "  instruct  the 
Signor  Grandi  "  how  to  act. 

"  You  told  the  contessina  my  name,  then  ?  "  I 
said  to  the  man.  He  had  announced  me  to  the 
baron,  and  consequently  knew  who  I  was.  He 
nodded,  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  came  with 
me.  When  we  were  in  the  street,  he  explained 
that  Hedwig  desired  to  speak  with  me.  He  ex 
pounded  the  fact  that  there  was  a  staircase  in  the 
rock,  leading  to  the  level  of  the  town.  Further 
more,  he  said  that  the  old  count  and  the  baron  occar 
sionally  drank  deeply,  as  soldiers  and  adventurers 
will  do,  to  pass  the  evening.  The  next  time  it 
occurred^  he,  the  faithful  servant,  would  come  to 
my  lodging  and  conduct  me  into  the  castle  by  the 
aforesaid  passage,  of  which  he  had  the  key. 

I  confess  I  was  unpleasantly  alarmed  at  the  pros 
pect  of  making  a  burglarious  entrance  in  such  ro- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  241 

mantle  fashion.  It  savored  more  of  the  last  cen 
tury  than  of  the  quiet  and  eminently  respectable 
age  in  which  we  live.  But  then,  the  castle  of 
Fillettino  was  built  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  it  is 
not  my  fault  if  it  has  not  gone  to  ruin,  like  so  many 
others  of  its  kind.  The  man  recommended  me  to 
be  always  at  home  after  eight  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing,  in  case  I  were  wanted,  and  to  avoid  seeing  the 
baron  when  he  was  abroad.  He  came  and  saw 
where  I  lived,  and  with  many  bows  he  left  me. 

You  may  imagine  in  what  anxiety  I  passed  my 
time.  A  whole  week  elapsed,  and  yet  I  was  never 
summoned.  Every  evening  at  seven,  an  hour  be 
fore  the  time  named,  I  was  in  my  room,  waiting  for 
some  one  who  never  came.  I  was  so  much  disturbed 
in  mind  that  I  lost  my  appetite  and  thought  of  being 
bled  again.  But  I  thought  it  too  soon,  and  con 
tented  myself  with  getting  a  little  tamarind  from 
the  apothecary. 

One  morning  the  apothecary,  who  is  also  the 
postmaster,  gave  me  a  letter  from  Nino,  dated  in 
Rome.  His  engagement  was  over,  he  had  reached 
Rome,  and  he  would  join  me  immediately. 

16 


XV. 

As  it  often  happens  that,  in  affairs  of  impor 
tance,  the  minor  events  which  lead  to  the  ultimate 
result  seem  to  occur  rapidly,  and  almost  to  stumble 
over  each  other  in  their  haste,  it  came  to  pass  that 
on  the  very  evening  after  I  had  got  Nino's  letter  I 
was  sent  for  by  the  contessina. 

When  the  man  came  to  call  me,  I  was  sitting  in 
my  room,  from  force  of  habit,  though  the  long  de 
lay  had  made  the  possibility  of  the  meeting  seem 
shadowy.  I  was  hoping  that  Nino  might  arrive  in 
time  to  go  in  my  place,  for  I  knew  that  he  would 
not  be  many  hours  behind  his  letter.  He  would 
assuredly  travel  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  if  he  had 
understood  my  directions  he  was  not  likely  to  go 
astray.  But  in  spite  of  my  hopes  the  summons 
came  too  soon,  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  myself. 

Picture  to  yourselves  how  I  looked  and  how  I 
felt :  a  sober  old  professor,  as  I  am,  stealing  out  in 
the  night,  all  wrapped  in  a  cloak  as  dark  and 
shabby  as  any  conspirator's ;  armed  with  a  good 
knife  in  case  of  accidents ;  with  beating  hea,rt,  and 
doubting  whether  I  could  use  my  weapon  if  need 
ful  ;  and  guided  to  the  place  of  tryst  by  the  confi 
dential  servant  of  a  beautiful  and  unhappy  maiden. 
I  have  often  laughed  since  then  at  the  figure  I  must 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  243 

have  cut,  but  I  did  not  laugh  at  the  time.  It  was  a 
very  serious  affair. 

We  skirted  the  base  of  the  huge  rock  on  which 
the  castle  is  built,  and  reached  the  small,  low  door 
without  meeting  any  one.  It  was  a  moonlit  night, 
—  the  Paschal  moon  was  nearly  at  the  full,  —  and 
the  whiteness  made  each  separate  iron  rivet  in  the 
door  stand  out  distinct,  thrown  into  relief  by  its 
own  small  shadow  on  the  seamed  oak.  My  guide 
produced  a  ponderous  key,  which  screamed  hoarsely 
in  the  lock  under  the  pressure  of  his  two  hands,  as 
he  made  it  turn  in  the  rusty  wards.  The  noise 
frightened  me,  but  the  man  laughed,  and  said  they 
could  not  hear  where  they  sat,  far  up  in  the  vaulted 
chamber,  telling  long  stories  over  their  wine.  We 
entered,  and  I  had  to  mount  a  little  way  up  the 
dark  steps  to  give  him  room  to  close  the  door  be 
hind  us,  by  which  we  were  left  in  total  darkness.  I 
confess  I  was  very  nervous  and  frightened  until  he 
lighted  a  taper  which  he  had  brought  and  made 
enough  light  to  show  the  way.  The  stairs  were 
winding  and  steep,  but  perfectly  dry,  and  when  he 
had  passed  me  I  followed  him,  feeling  that  at  all 
events  the  door  behind  was  closed,  and  there  was 
some  one  between  me  and  any  danger  ahead. 

The  man  paused  in  front  of  me,  and  when  I  had 
rounded  the  corner  of  the  winding  steps  I  saw  that 
a  brighter  light  than  ours  shone  from  a  small  door 
way  opening  directly  upon  the  stair.  In  another 
moment  I  was  in  the  presence  of  Hedwig  von  Lira. 
The  man  retired,  and  left  us. 


244  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

She  stood,  dressed  in  black,  against  the  rough 
stone ;  the  strong  light  of  a  gorgeous  gilt  lamp  that 
was  placed  on  the  floor  streamed  upward  on  her 
white  face.  Her  eyes  caught  the  brightness,  and 
seemed  to  burn  like  deep,  dark  gems,  though  they 
appeared  so  blue  in  the  day.  She  looked  like  a 
person  tortured  past  endurance,  so  that  the  pain  of 
the  soul  has  taken  shape,  and  the  agony  of  the 
heart  has  assumed  substance.  Tears  shed  had  hol 
lowed  the  marble  cheeks,  and  the  stronger  suffering 
that  cannot  weep  had  chiseled  out  great  shadows 
beneath  her  brows.  Her  thin  clasped  hands  seemed 
wringing  each  other  into  strange  shapes  of  woe  ; 
and  though  she  stood  erect  as  a  slender  pillar 
against  the  black  rock,  it  was  rather  from  the  cour 
age  of  despair  than  because  she  was  straight  and 
tall  by  her  own  nature. 

I  bent  low  before  her,  awed  by  the  extremity 
of  suffering  I  saw. 

"  Are  you  Signer  Grandi?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
and  trembling  voice. 

"  Most  humbly  at  your  service,  Signora  Contes- 
sina,"  I  answered.  She  put  out  out  her  hand  to 
me,  and  then  drew  it  back  quickly,  with  a  timid, 
nervous  look  as  I  moved  to  take  it. 

"  I  never  saw  you,"  she  said,  "  but  I  feel  as 
though  you  must  be  a  friend  "  —  She  paused. 

"  Indeed,  signorina,  I  am  here  for  that  reason," 
said  I,  trying  to  speak  stoutly,  and  so  to  inspire  her 
with  some  courage.  "  Tell  me  how  I  can  best  serve 
you ;  and  though  I  am  not  young  and  strong  like 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  245 

Nino  Cardegna,  my  boy,  I  am  not  so  old  but  that  I 
can  do  whatsoever  you  command." 

"  Then,  in  God's  name,  save  me  from  this  "  — 
But  again  the  sentence  died  upon  her  lips,  and  she 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  door.  I  reflected  that  if 
any  one  came  we  should  be  caught  like  mice  in  a 
trap,  and  I  made  as  though  I  would  look  out  upon 
the  stairs.  But  she  stopped  me. 

"  I  am  foolishly  frightened,"  she  said.  "  That 
man  is  faithful,  and  will  keep  watch."  I  thought  it 
time  to  discover  her  wishes. 

"  Signorina,"  said  I,  "  you  ask  me  to  save  you. 
You  do  not  say  from  what.  I  can  at  least  tell  you 
that  Nino  Cardegna  will  be  here  in  a  day  or  two  " 
—  At  this  sudden  news  she  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
the  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  in  strange  contrast 
with  their  deathly  whiteness.  She  seemed  on  the 
point  of  speaking,  but  checked  herself,  and  her 
eyes,  that  had  looked  me  through  and  through  a 
moment  before,  drooped  modestly  under  my  glance. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  she  said  at  last,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "  Yes,  if  he  comes,  I  think  the  Signor  Car 
degna  will  help  me." 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  very  courteously,  for  I  guessed 
her  embarrassment,  "  I  can  assure  you  that  my  boy 
is  ready  to  give  you  his  life  in  return  for  the  kind 
ness  he  received  at  your  hands  in  Rome."  She 
looked  up,  smiling  through  her  tears,  for  the  sud 
den  happiness  had  moistened  the  drooping  lids. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Signor  Grandi.  Signor 
Cardegna  is,  I  believe,  a  good  friend  of  mine. 
You  say  he  will  be  here  ?  " 


246  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  him  to-day,  dated  in 
Rome,  in  which  he  tells  me  that  he  will  start  im 
mediately.  He  may  be  here  to-morrow  morning," 
I  answered.  Hedwig  had  regained  her  composure, 
perhaps  because  she  was  reassured  by  my  manner 
of  speaking  about  Nino.  I,  however,  was  anxious 
to  hear  from  her  own  lips  some  confirmation  of  my 
suspicions  concerning  the  baron.  "  I  have  no 
doubt,"  I  continued,  presently,  "  that,  with  your 
consent,  my  boy  will  be  able  to  deliver  you  from 
this  prison "  —  I  used  the  word  at  a  venture. 
Had  Hedwig  suffered  less,  and  been  less  cruelly 
tormented,  she  would  have  rebuked  me  for  the  ex 
pression.  But  I  recalled  her  to  her  position,  and 
her  self-control  gave  way  at  once. 

"Oh,  you  are  right  to  call  it  a  prison! "she 
cried.  "  It  is  as  much  a  prison  as  this  chamber 
hewed  out  of  the  rock,  where  so  many  a  wretch  has 
languished  hopelessly  ;  a  prison  from  which  I  am 
daily  taken  out  into  the  sweet  sun,  to  breathe  and 
be  kept  alive,  and  to  taste  how  joyful  a  thing  lib 
erty  must  be !  And  every  day  I  am  brought  back, 
and  told  that  I  may  be  free  if  I  will  consent.  Con 
sent  !  God  of  mercy !  "  she  moaned,  in  a  sudden 
tempest  of  passionate  despair.  "  Consent  ever  to 
belong,  body  —  and  soul  —  to  be  touched,  polluted, 
desecrated,  by  that  inhuman  monster ;  sold  to  him, 
to  a  creature  without  pity,  whose  heart  is  a  toad,  a 
venomous  creeping  thing,  —  sold  to  him  for  this 
life,  and  to  the  vengeance  of  God  hereafter;  bar 
tered,  traded,  and  told  that  I  am  so  vile  and  lost 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  247 

that  the  very  price  I  am  offered  is  an  honor  to  me, 
being  so  much  more  than  my  value."  She  came 
toward  me  as  she  spoke,  and  the  passionate,  un 
shed  tears  that  were  in  her  seemed  to  choke  her,  so 
that  her  voice  was  hoarse. 

"And  for  what  —  for  what?"  she  cried  wildly, 
seizing  my  arm  and  looking  fiercely  into  my  eyes. 
"  For  what,  I  say  ?  Because  I  gave  him  a  poor  rose  ; 
because  I  let  him  see  me  once ;  because  I  loved  his 
sweet  voice  ;  because  —  because  —  I  love  him,  and 
will  love  him,  and  do  love  him,  though  I  die ! " 

The  girl  was  in  a  frenzy  of  passion  and  love  and 
hate  all  together,  and  did  not  count  her  words.  The 
white  heat  of  her  tormented  soul  blazed  from  her 
pale  face  and  illuminated  every  feature,  though  she 
was  turned  from  the  light,  and  she  shook  my  arm 
in  her  grasp  so  that  it  pained  me.  The  marble  was 
burned  in  the  fire,  and  must  consume  itself  to  ashes. 
The  white  and  calm  statue  was  become  a  pillar  of 
flame  in  the  life-and-death  struggle  for  love.  I 
strove  to  speak,  but  could  not,  for  fear  and  wonder 
tied  my  tongue.  And  indeed  she  gave  me  short 
time  to  think. 

"  I  tell  you  I  love  him,  as  he  loves  me,"  she  con 
tinued,  her  voice  trembling  upon  the  rising  cadence, 
"  with  all  my  whole  being.  Tell  him  so.  Tell  him 
he  must  save  me,  and  that  only  he  can :  that  for 
his  sake  I  am  tortured,  and  scorned,  and  disgraced, 
and  sold ;  my  body  thrown  to  dogs,  and  worse  than 
dogs ;  my  soul  given  over  to  devils  that  tempt  me 
to  kill  and  be  free,  —  by  my  own  father,  for  his 


248  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

sake.  Tell  him  that  these  hands  he  kissed  are 
wasted  with  wringing  small  pains  from  each  other, 
but  the  greater  pain  drives  them  to  do  worse.  Tell 
him,  good  sir,  —  you  are  kind  and  love  liim,  but 
not  as  I  do,  —  tell  him  that  this  golden  hair  of 
mine  has  streaks  of  white  in  these  terrible  two 
months;  that  these  eyes  he  loved  are  worn  with 
weeping.  Tell  him  "  — 

But  her  voice  failed  her,  and  she  staggered 
against  the  wall,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  A 
trembling  breath,  a  struggle,  a  great  wild  sob :  the 
long-sealed  tears  were  free,  and  flowed  fast  over  her 
hands. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  moaned,  "  you  must  not  tell 
him  that."  Then  choking  down  her  agony  she 
turned  to  me  :  "  You  will  not  —  you  cannot  tell 
him  of  this  ?  I  am  weak,  ill,  but  I  will  bear  every 
thing  for  —  for  him."  The  great  effort  exhausted 
her,  and  I  think  that  if  I  had  not  caught  her  she 
would  have  fallen,  and  she  would  have  hurt  herself 
very  much  on  the  stone  floor.  But  she  is  young, 
and  I  am  not  very  strong,  and  could  not  have  held 
her  up.  So  I  knelt,  letting  her  weight  come  on  my 
shoulder. 

The  fair  head  rested  pathetically  against  my  old 
coat,  and  I  tried  to  wipe  away  her  tears  with  her 
long,  golden  hair ;  for  I  had  not  any  handkerchief. 
But  very  soon  I  could  not  see  to  do  it.  I  was 
crying  myself,  for  the  pity  of  it  all,  and  my  tears 
trickled  down  and  fell  on  her  thin  hands.  And 
so  I  kneeled,  and  she  half  lay  and  half  sat  upon 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  249 

the  floor,  with  her  head  resting  on  my  shoulder.  I 
was  glad  then  to  be  old,  for  I  felt  that  I  had  a  right 
to  comfort  her. 

Presently  she  looked  up  into  my  face,  and  saw 
that  I  was  weeping.  She  did  not  speak,  but  found 
her  little  lace  handkerchief,  and  pressed  it  to  my 
eyes,  —  first  to  one,  and  then  to  the  other ;  and  the 
action  brought  a  faint  maidenly  flush  to  her  cheeks 
through  all  her  own  sorrow.  A  daughter  could  not 
have  done  it  more  kindly. 

"  My  child,"  I  said  at  last,  "  be  sure  that  your 
secret  is  safe  with  me.  But  there  is  one  coming 
with  whom  it  will  be  safer." 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  said,  and  her  head  sank 
once  more,  and  nestled  against  my  breast,  so  that 
I  could  just  see  the  bright  tresses  through  my  gray 
beard.  But  in  a  moment  she  looked  up  again,  and 
made  as  though  she  would  rise  ;  and  then  I  helped 
her,  and  we  both  stood  on  our  feet. 

Poor,  beautiful,  tormented  Hedwig !  I  can  re 
member  it,  and  call  up  the  whole  picture  to  my 
mind.  She  still  leaned  on  my  arm,  and  looked  up 
to  me,  her  loosened  hair  all  falling  back  upon  her 
shoulders  ;  and  the  wonderful  lines  of  her  delicate 
face  made  ethereal  and  angelic  by  her  sufferings. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said  at  last,  smoothing  her  golden 
hair  with  my  hand,  as  I  thought  her  mother  would 
do,  if  she  had  a  mother,  —  "  my  dear,  your  inter 
view  with  my  boy  may  be  a  short  one,  and  you  may 
not  have  an  opportunity  to  meet  at  all  for  days.  If 
it  does  not  pain  you  too  much,  will  you  tell  me  just 


250  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

what  your  troubles  are,  here  ?  I  can  then  tell  him, 
so  that  you  can  save  the  time  when  you  are  to 
gether."  She  gazed  into  my  eyes  for  some  seconds, 
as  though  to  prove  me,  whether  I  were  a  true  man. 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  she  answered,  taking 
courage.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  two  words.  My  father 
treats  me  as  though  I  had  committed  some  unpar 
donable  crime,  which  I  do  not  at  all  understand. 
He  says  my  reputation  is  ruined.  Surely,  that  is 
not  true?"  She  asked  the  question  so  innocently 
and  simply  that  I  smiled. 

"No,  my  dear,  it  is  not  true,"  I  replied. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  understand  it,"  she  contin 
ued;  "but  he  says  so,  and  insists  that  my  only 
course  is  to  accept  what  he  calls  the  advantageous 
offer  which  has  suddenly  presented  itself.  He  insists 
very  roughly."  She  shuddered  slightly.  "  He  gives 
me  no  peace.  It  appears  that  this  creature  wrote 
to  ask  my  father  for  my  hand,  when  we  left  Rome, 
two  months  ago.  The  letter  was  forwarded,  and 
my  father  began  at  once  to  tell  me  that  I  must 
make  up  my  mind  to  the  marriage.  At  first  I  used 
to  be  very  angry ;  but  seeing  we  were  alone,  I 
finally  determined  to  seem  indifferent,  and  not  to 
answer  him  when  he  talked  about  it.  Then  he 
thought  my  spirit  was  broken,  and  he  sent  for 
Baron  Benoni,  who  arrived  a  fortnight  ago.  Do 
you  know  him,  Signor  Grandi  ?  You  came  to  see 
him,  so  I  suppose  you  do."  The  same  look  of 
hatred  and  loathing  came  to  her  face  that  I  had 
noticed  when  Benoni  and  I  met  her  in  the  hall. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  251 

"  Yes,  I  know  him.  He  is  a  traitor,  a  villain,"  I 
said  earnestly. 

"Yes,  and  more  than  that.  But  he  is  a  great 
banker  in  Russia  "  — 

"  A  banker  ?  "  I  asked,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Did  you  not  know  it  ?  Yes ;  he  is  very  rich, 
and  has  a  great  firm,  if  that  is  the  name  for  it. 
But  he  wanders  incessantly,  and  his  partners  take 
care  of  his  affairs.  My  father  says  that  I  shall 
marry  him,  or  end  my  days  here." 

"  Unless  you  end  his  for  him !  "  I  cried  indig 
nantly. 

"  Hush !  "  said  she,  and  trembled  violently.  "  He 
is  my  father,  you  know,"  she  added  earnestly. 

"  But  you  cannot  consent  "  — I  began. 

"  Consent !  "  she  interrupted,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"  I  will  die  rather  than  consent." 

"  I  mean,  you  cannot  consent  to  be  shut  up  in 
this  valley  forever." 

"  If  need  be,  I  will,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"There  is  no  need,"  I  whispered. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  father.  He  is  a  man  of 
iron,"  she  answered  sorrowfully. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  boy.  He  is  a  man  of  his 
word,"  I  replied. 

We  were  both  silent,  for  we  both  knew  very  well 
what  our  words  meant.  From  such  a  situation 
there  could  be  but  one  escape. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  go  now,"  she  said  at  last. 
"If  I  were  missed  it  would  all  be  over.  But  I 
am.  sorry  to  let  you  go,  you  are  so  kind.  How  can 


252  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

you  let  me  know" —  She  stopped,  with  ablush, 
and  stooped  to  raise  the  lamp  from  the  floor. 

"  Can  you  not  meet  here  to-morrow  night,  when 
they  are  asleep  ?  "  I  suggested,  knowing  what  her 
question  would  have  been. 

"  I  will  send  the  same  man  to  you  to-morrow 
evening,  and  let  you  know  what  is  possible,"  she 
said.  "  And  now  I  will  show  you  the  way  out  of 
my  house,"  she  added,  with  the  first  faint  shadow 
of  a  smile.  With  the  slight  gilt  lamp  in  her  hand, 
she  went  out  of  the  little  rock  chamber,  listened  a 
moment,  and  began  to  descend  the  steps. 

"  But  the  key  ?  "  I  asked,  following  her  light 
footsteps  with  my  heavier  tread. 

"  It  is  in  the  door,"  she  answered,  and  went  on. 

When  we  reached  the  bottom,  we  found  it  as  she 
had  said.  The  servant  had  left  the  key  on  the  in 
side,  and  with  some  difficulty  I  turned  the  bolts. 
We  stood  for  one  moment  in  the  narrow  space, 
where  the  lowest  step  was  set  close  against  the  door. 
Her  eyes  flashed  strangely  in  the  lamplight. 

"  How  easy  it  would  be  !  "  I  said,  understanding 
her  glance.  She  nodded,  and  pushed  me  gently 
out  into  the  street ;  and  I  closed  the  door,  and 
leaned  against  it  as  she  locked  it. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  from  the  other  side,  and 
I  put  my  mouth  to  the  keyhole.  "  Good-night. 
Courage !  "  I  answered.  I  could  hear  her  lightly 
mounting  the  stone  steps.  It  seemed  wonderful  to 
me  that  she  should  not  be  afraid  to  go  back  alone. 
But  love  makes  people  brave. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  253 

The  moon  had  risen  higher  during  the  time  I  had 
been  within,  and  I  strolled  round  the  base  of  the 
rock,  lighting  a  cigar  as  I  went.  The  terrible  adven 
ture  I  had  dreaded  was  now  over,  and  I  felt  myself 
again.  In  truth,  it  was  a  curious  thing  to  happen 
to  a  man  of  my  years  and  my  habits ;  but  the 
things  I  had  heard  had  so  much  absorbed  my  atten 
tion  that,  while  the  interview  lasted,  I  had  for 
gotten  the  strange  manner  of  the  meeting.  I  was 
horrified  at  the  extent  of  the  girl's  misery,  more 
felt  than  understood  from  her  brief  description  and 
passionate  outbreaks.  There  is  no  mistaking  the 
strength  of  a  suffering  that  wastes  and  consumes 
the  mortal  part  of  us  as  wax  melts  at  the  fire. 

And  Benoni  —  the  villain  !  He  had  written  to 
ask  Hedwig  in  marriage  before  he  came  to  see  me 
in  Rome.  There  was  something  fiendish  in  his  al 
most  inviting  me  to  see  his  triumph,  and  I  cursed 
him  as  I  kicked  the  loose  stones  in  the  road  with  my 
heavy  shoes.  So  he  was  a  banker,  as  well  as  a  mu 
sician  and  a  wanderer.  Who  would  have  thought  it  ? 

"  One  thing  is  clear,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  went 
to  bed  :  "  unless  something  is  done  immediately, 
that  poor  girl  will  consume  herself  and  die."  And 
all  that  night  her  poor  thin  face  and  staring  eyes 
were  in  my  dreams ;  so  that  I  woke  up  several 
times,  thinking  I  was  trying  to  comfort  her  and 
could  not.  But  toward  dawn  I  felt  sure  that  Nino 
was  coming,  and  that  all  would  be  well. 

I  was  chatting  with  my  old  landlady  the  next 
morning,  and  smoking  to  pass  the  time,  when  there 
was  suddenly  a  commotion  in  the  street.  That  is 


254  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

to  say,  some  one  was  arriving,  and  all  the  little 
children  turned  out  in  a  body  to  run  after  the 
stranger,  while  the  old  women  came  to  their  doors 
with  their  knitting,  and  squinted  under  the  bright 
sunlight  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

It  was  Nino,  of  course  —  my  own  boy,  riding  on 
a  stout  mule,  with  a  countryman  by  his  side  upon 
another.  He  was  dressed  in  plain  gray  clothes, 
and  wore  high  boots.  His  great  felt  hat  drooped 
half  across  his  face,  and  hid  his  eyes  from  me  ;  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  stern,  square  jaw  and 
the  close,  even  lips.  I  ran  toward  him,  and  called 
him  by  name.  In  a  moment  he  was  off  his  beast, 
and  we  embraced  tenderly. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ?  "  were  the  first  words  he 
spoke.  I  nodded,  and  hurried  him  into  the  house 
where  I  lived,  fearful  lest  some  mischance  should 
bring  the  party  from  the  castle  riding  by.  He  sent 
his  man  with  the  mules  to  the  inn,  and  when  we 
were  at  last  alone  together  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  took  off  his  hat. 

Nino  too  was  changed  in  the  two  months  that 
had  passed.  He  had  traveled  far,  had  sung  lustily, 
and  had  been  applauded  to  the  skies ;  and  he  had 
seen  the  great  world.  But  there  was  more  than  all 
that  in  his  face.  There  were  lines  of  care  and  of 
thought  that  well  became  his  masculine  features. 
There  was  a  something  in  his  look  that  told  of  a 
set  purpose,  and  there  was  a  light  in  his  dark  eyes 
that  spoke  a  world  of  warning  to  any  one  who 
might  dare  to  thwart  him.  But  he  seemed  thinner, 
and  his  cheeks  were  as  white  as  the  paper  I  write  on. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  255 

Some  men  are  born  masters,  and  never  once 
relax  the  authority  they  exercise  on  those  around 
them.  Nino  has  always  commanded  me,  as  he 
seems  to  command  everybody  else,  in  the  fewest 
words  possible.  But  he  is  so  true  and  honest  and 
brave  that  all  who  know  him  love  him  ;  and  that 
is  more  than  can  be  said  for  most  artists.  As  he 
sat  in  his  chair,  hesitating  what  question  to  ask 
first,  or  waiting  for  me  to  speak,  I  thought  that  if 
Hedwig  von  Lira  had  searched  the  whole  world  for 
a  man  able  to  deliver  her  from  her  cruel  father  and 
from  her  hated  lover  she  could  have  chosen  no 
better  champion  than  Nino  Cardegna,  the  singer. 
Of  course  you  all  say  that  I  am  infatuated  with  the 
boy,  and  that  I  helped  him  to  do  a  reckless  thing, 
simply  because  I  was  blinded  by  my  fondness.  But 
I  maintain,  and  shall  ever  hold,  that  Nino  did  right 
in  this  matter,  and  I  am  telling  my  story  merely  in 
order  that  honest  men  may  judge. 

He  sat  by  the  window,  and  the  sun  poured 
through  the  panes  upon  his  curling  hair,  his  travel 
ing  dress,  and  his  dusty  boots.  The  woman  of  the 
house  brought  in  some  wine  and  water ;  but  he 
only  sipped  the  water,  and  would  not  touch  the 
wine. 

"  You  are  a  dear,  kind  father  to  me,"  he  said, 
putting  out  his  hand  from  where  he  sat,  "  and  be 
fore  we  talk  I  must  tell  you  how  much  I  thank 
you."  Simple  words,  as  they  look  on  paper ;  but 
another  man  could  not  have,  said  so  much  in  an 
hour,  as  his  voice  and  look  told  me. 


XVI. 

"  NINO  mio,"  I  began,  "  I  saw  the  contessina  last 
night.  She  is  in  a  very  dramatic  and  desperate 
situation.  But  she  greets  you,  and  looks  to  you  to 
save  her  from  her  troubles."  Nino's  face  was  calm, 
but  his  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  answered  :  — 

"  Tell  me  quickly,  please,  what  the  troubles  are." 

"  Softly  —  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  You 
must  know  that  your  friend  Benoni  is  a  traitor  to 
you,  and  is  here.  Do  not  look  astonished.  He 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  the  contessina,  and 
she  says  she  will  die  rather  than  take  him,  which 
is  quite  right  of  her."  At  the  latter  piece  of  news, 
Nino  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"  You  do  not  seriously  mean  that  her  father  is 
trying  to  make  her  marry  Benoni  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  It  is  infamous,  my  dear  boy  ;  but  it  is  true." 

"  Infamous !  I  should  think  you  could  find  a 
stronger  word.  How  did  you  learn  this  ?  "  I  detailed 
the  circumstances  of  our  meeting  on  the  previous 
night.  While  I  talked,  Nino  listened  with  intense 
interest,  and  his  face  changed  its  look  from  anger 
to  pity,  and  from  pity  to  horror.  When  I  had  fin 
ished,  he  was  silent. 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself,"  I  said,  "  that  the 
case  is  urgent." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  257 

"  I  will  take  her  away,"  said  Nino,  at  last.  "  It 
will  be  very  unpleasant  for  the  count.  He  would 
have  been  wiser  to  allow  her  to  have  her  own  way." 

"  Do  nothing  rash,  Nino  mio.  Consider  a  little 
what  the  consequences  would  be  if  you  were  caught 
in  the  act  of  violently  carrying  off  the  daughter  of 
a  man  as  powerful  as  Von  Lira." 

"  Bah !  You  talk  of  his  power  as  though  we  lived 
under  the  Colonnesi  and  the  Orsini,  instead  of 
under  a  free  monarchy.  If  I  am  once  married  to 
her,  what  have  I  to  fear  ?  Do  you  think  the  count 
would  go  to  law  about  his  daughter's  reputation  ? 
Or  do  you  suppose  he  would  try  to  murder  me  ?  " 

"  I  would  do  both,  in  his  place,"  I  answered. 
"  But  perhaps  you  are  right,  and  he  will  yield  when 
he  sees  that  he  is  outwitted.  Think  again,  and  sup 
pose  that  the  contessina  herself  objects  to  such  a 
step." 

"  That  is  a  different  matter.  She  shall  do  noth 
ing  save  by  her  own  free  will.  You  do  not  imagine 
I  would  try  to  take  her  away  unless  she  were  will 
ing?  "  He  sat  down  again  beside  me,  and  affec 
tionately  laid  one  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Women,  Nino,  are  women,"  I  remarked. 

"  Unless  they  are  angels,"  he  assented. 

"Keep  the  angels  for  Paradise,  and  beware  of 
taking  them  into  consideration  in  this  working-day 
world.  I  have  often  told  you,  my  boy,  that  I  am 
older  than  you." 

"  As  if  I  doubted  that !  "  he  laughed. 

"  Very  well.    I  know  something  about  women.    A 

17 


258  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

hundred  women  will  tell  you  that  they  are  ready  to 
flee  with  you ;  but  not  more  than  one  in  the  hun 
dred  will  really  leave  everything  and  follow  you  to 
the  end  of  the  world,  when  the  moment  comes  for 
running  away.  They  always  make  a  fuss  at  the 
last,  and  say  it  is  too  dangerous,  and  you  may  be 
caught.  That  is  the  way  of  them.  You  will  be 
quite  ready  with  a  ladder  of  ropes,  like  one  of  Boc 
caccio's  men,  and  a  roll  of  bank-notes  for  the  jour 
ney,  and  smelling-salts,  and  a  cushion  for  the  puppy 
dog,  and  a  separate  conveyance  for  the  maid,  just 
according  to  the  directions  she  has  given  you ; 
then,  at  the  very  last,  she  will  perhaps  say  that  she 
is  afraid  of  hurting  her  father's  feelings  by  leaving 
him  without  any  warning.  Be  careful,  Nino  !  " 

"  As  for  that,"  he  answered  sullenly  enough,  "  if 
she  will  not,  she  will  not ;  and  I  would  not  attempt 
to  persuade  her  against  her  inclination.  But  un 
less  you  have  very  much  exaggerated  what  you  saw 
in  her  face,  she  will  be  ready  at  five  minutes'  no 
tice.  It  must  be  very  like  hell,  up  there  in  that 
castle,  I  should  think." 

"  Messer  Diavolo,  who  rules  over  the  house,  will 
not  let  his  prey  escape  him  so  easily  as  you  think." 

"  Her  father  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  Benoni.  There  is  no  creature  so  relent 
less  as  an  old  man  in  pursuit  of  a  young  woman." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  Benoni." 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  her  father,"  said  I, 
laughing.  "  He  is  lame,  and  cannot  run  after  you." 
I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  we  Romans  laugh  at 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  259 

lame  people ;  we  are  sorry  for  them,  of  course, 
as  we  are  for  other  cripples. 

"There  is  something  more  than  fear  in  the  mat 
ter,"  said -Nino  seriously.  "It  is  a  great  thing  to 
have  upon  one's  soul." 

"What?"  I  asked. 

"  To  take  a  daughter  away  from  her  father  with 
out  his  consent,  —  or  at  least  without  consulting 
him.  I  would  not  like  to  do  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  ask  the  old  gentleman's  con 
sent  before  eloping  with  his  daughter  ?  You  are  a 
little  donkey,  Nino,  upon  my  word. " 

"  Donkey,  or  anything  else  you  like,  but  I  will 
act  like  a  galantuomo.  I  will  see  the  count,  and 
ask  him  once  more  whether  he  is  willing  to  let  his 
daughter  marry  me.  If  not,  so  much  the  worse ; 
he  will  be  warned." 

"  Look  here,  Nino,"  I  said,  astonished  at  the 
idea.  "  I  have  taught  you  a  little  logic.  Suppose 
you  meant  to  steal  a  horse,  instead  of  a  woman. 
Would  you  go  to  the  owner  of  the  horse,  with  your 
hat  in  your  hand,  and  say,  '  I  trust  your  worship 
will  not  be  offended  if  I  steal  this  horse,  which 
seems  to  be  a  good  animal  and  pleases  me;'  and 
then  would  you  expect  him  to  allow  you  to  steal  his 
horse  ?  " 

"  Sor  Cornelio,  the  case  is  not  the  same.  Women 
have  a  right  to  be  free,  and  to  marry  whom  they 
please ;  but  horses  are  slaves.  However,  as  I  am 
not  a  thief,  I  would  certainly  ask  the  man  for  the 
horse ;  and  if  he  refused  it,  and  I  conceived  that  I 


260  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

had  a  right  to  have  it,  I  would  take  it  by  force,  and 
not  by  stealth." 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  if  you  meant  to  get  pos 
session  of  what  was  not  yours  you  might  as  well  get 
it  in  the  easiest  possible  way,"  I  objected.  "  But 
we  need  not  argue  the  case.  There  is  a  much  better 
reason  why  you  should  not  consult  the  count." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Nino  stubbornly. 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  so.  The  Contessina  di  Lira 
is  desperately  unhappy,  and  if  nothing  is  done  she 
may  die.  Young  women  have  died  of  broken  hearts 
before  now.  You  have  no  right  to  endanger  her 
life  by  risking  failure.  Answer  me  that,  if  you  can, 
and  I  will  grant  you  are  a  cunning  sophist,  but  not 
a  good  lover." 

"  There  is  reason  in  what  you  say  now,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  had  not  thought  of  that  desperateness 
of  the  case  which  you  speak  of.  You  have  seen 
her."  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hand,  and  seemed 
to  be  thinking. 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,  and  I  wish  you  had  been 
in  my  place.  You  would  think  differently  about 
asking  her  father's  leave  to  rescue  her."  From 
having  been  anxious  to  prevent  anything  rash,  it 
seemed  that  I  was  now  urging  him  into  the  very 
jaws  of  danger.  I  think  that  Hedwig's  face  was 
before  me,  as  it  had  been  in  reality  on  the  previous 
evening.  "As  Curione  said  to  Ca3sar,  delay  is 
injurious  to  any  one  who  is  fully  prepared  for  ac 
tion.  I  remember  also  to  have  read  somewhere 
that  such  waste  of  time  in  diplomacy  and  palaver- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  261 

ins:  is  the  favorite  resource  of   feeble  and  timid 

O 

minds,  who  regard  the  use  of  dilatory  and  ambigu 
ous  measures  as  an  evidence  of  the  most  admirable 
and  consummate  prudence." 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  use  so  much  learning  with 
me,"  said  Nino.  "I  assure  you  that  I  will  be 
neither  dilatory  nor  ambiguous.  In  fact,  I  will  go 
at  once,  without  even  dusting  my  boots,  and  I  will 
say,  Give  me  your  daughter,  if  you  can ;  and  if  you 
cannot,  I  will  still  hope  to  marry  her.  He  will 
probably  say  '  No,'  and  then  I  will  carry  her  off. 
It  appears  to  me  that  is  simple  enough." 

"  Take  my  advice,  Nino.  Carry  her  off  first,  and 
ask  permission  afterwards.  It  is  much  better.  The 
real  master  up  there  is  Benoni,  I  fancy,  and  not  the 
count.  Benoni  is  a  gentleman  who  will  give  you 
much  trouble.  If  you  go  now  to  see  Hedwig's 
father,  Benoni  will  be  present  at  the  interview." 
Nino  was  silent,  and  sat  stretching  his  legs  before 
him,  his  head  on  his  breast.  "  Benoni,"  I  con 
tinued,  "  has  made  up  his  mind  to  succeed.  He 
has  probably  taken  this  fancy  into  his  head  out  of 
pure  wickedness.  Perhaps  he  is  bored,  and  really 
wants  a  wife.  But  I  believe  he  is  a  man  who  de 
lights  in  cruelty  and  would  as  lief  break  the  contes- 
sina's  heart  by  getting  rid  of  you  as  by  marrying 
her."  I  saw  that  he  was  not  listening. 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You  are  not 
very  wise,  Messer  Cornelio,  and  you  counsel  me  to 
be  prudent  and  to  be  rash  in  the  same  breath." 

"  You  make  very  pretty  compliments,  Sor  Nino," 


262  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

I  answered  tartly.  He  put  out  his  hand  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"  You  are  as  wise  as  any  man  can  be  who  is  not 
in  love,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  his  great  eyes. 
But  love  is  the  best  counselor." 

"What  is  your  idea?"  I  asked,  somewhat  paci 
fied. 

"  You  say  they  ride  together  every  day.  Yes  — 
very  good.  The  contessina  will  not  ride  to-day; 
partly  because  she  will  be  worn  out  with  fatigue 
from  last  night's  interview,  and  partly  because  she 
will  make  an  effort  to  discover  whether  I  have  ar 
rived  to-day  or  not.  You  can  count  on  that." 

"  I  imagine  so." 

"  Very  well,"  he  continued  ;  "  in  that  case  one  of 
two  things  will  happen :  either  the  count  will  go  out 
alone,  or  they  will  all  stay  at  home." 

"  Why  will  Benoni  not  go  out  with  the  count  ?  " 

"  Because  Benoni  will  hope  to  see  Hedwig  alone, 
if  he  stays  at  home,  and. the  count  will  be  very  glad 
to  give  him  the  opportunity." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Nino.  You  are  not  so 
stupid  as  I  thought." 

"  In  war,"  continued  the  boy,  "  a  general  gains 
a  great  advantage  by  separating  his  adversary's 
forces.  If  the  count  goes  out  alone,  I  will  present 
myself  to  him  in  the  road,  and  tell  him  what  I 
want." 

"  Now  you  are  foolish  again.  You  should,  on  the 
contrary,  enter  the  house  when  the  count  is  away, 
and  take  the  signorina  with  you  then  and  there. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  263 

Before  he  could  return  you  would  be  miles  on  the 
road  to  Rome." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  tell  you  once  and  for  all, 
Sor  Cornelio,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  such  an  action 
would  be  dishonorable,  and  I  will  not  do  anything 
of  the  kind.  Moreover,  you  forget  that,  if  I  fol 
lowed  your  advice,  I  should  find  Benoni  at  home,  — 
the  very  man  from  whom  you  think  I  have  every 
thing  to  fear.  No  ;  I  must  give  the  count  one  fair 
chance."  I  was  silent,  for  I  saw  he  was  determined, 
and  yet  I  would  not  let  him  think  that  I  was  satis 
fied. 

,The  idea  of  losing  an  advantage  by  giving  an 
enemy  any  sort  of  warning  before  the  attack  seemed 
to  me  novel  in  the  extreme ;  but  I  comprehended 
that  Nino  saw  in  his  scheme  a  satisfaction  to  his 
conscience,  and  smelled  in  it  a  musty  odor  of  forgot 
ten  knight-errantry  that  he  had  probably  learned 
to  love  in  his  theatrical  experiences.  I  had  cer 
tainly  not  expected  that  Nino  Cardegna,  the  peas 
ant  child,  would  turn  out  to  be  the  pink  of  chivalry 
and  the  mirror  of  honor.  But  I  could  not  help  ad 
miring  his  courage,  and  wondering  if  it  would  not 
play  him  false  at  the  perilous  moment.  I  did  not 
half  know  him  then,  though  he  had  been  with  me 
for  so  many  years.  But  I  was  very  anxious  to  as 
certain  from  him  what  he  meant  to  do,  for  I  feared 
that  his  bold  action  would  make  trouble,  and  I  had 
visions  of  the  count  and  Benoni  together  taking  sud 
den  and  summary  vengeance  on  myself. 

"  Nino,"  I  said,  "  I  have  made  great  sacrifices  to 


264  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

help  you  in  finding  these  people,"  — •  I  would  not 
tell  him  I  had  sold  my  vineyard  to  make  prepara 
tion  for  a  longer  journey,  though  he  has  since  found 
it  out,  —  "  but  if  you  are  going  to  do  anything  rash 
I  will  get  on  my  little  ass,  and  ride  a  few  miles  from 
the  village  until  it  is  over."  Nino  laughed  aloud. 

"  My  dear  professor,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  afraid. 
I  will  give  you  plenty  of  time  to  get  out  of  the  way. 
Meanwhile,  the  contessina  is  certain  to  send  the 
confidential  servant  of  whom  you  speak,  to  give  me 
instructions.  If  I  am  not  here,  you  ought  to  be,  in 
order  to  receive  the  message.  Now  listen  to  me." 

I  prepared  to  be  attentive  and  to  listen  to  his 
scheme.  I  was  by  no  means  expecting  the  plan  he 
proposed. 

"  The  count  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  ride  at 
a  different  hour,  if  he  rides  alone,"  he  began.  "  I 
will  therefore  have  my  mule  saddled  now,  and  will 
station  my  man  —  a  countryman  from  Subiaco  and 
good  for  any  devilry  —  in  some  place  where  he  can 
watch  the  entrance  to  the  house,  or  the  castle,  or 
whatever  you  call  this  place.  So  soon  as  he  sees  the 
count  come  out  he  will  call  me.  As  a  man  can  ride 
in  only  one  of  two  directions  in  this  valley,  I  shall 
have  no  trouble  whatever  in  meeting  the  old  gen 
tleman,  even  if  I  cannot  overtake  him  with  my 
mule." 

"  Have  you  any  arms,  Nino  ?  " 

"No.  I  do  not  want  weapons  to  face  an  old 
man  in  broad  daylight ;  and  he  is  too  much  of  a 
soldier  to  attack  me  if  I  am  defenceless.  If  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  265 

servant  comes  after  I  am  gone,  you  must  remember 
every  detail  of  what  he  says,  and  you  must  also  ar 
range  a  little  matter  with  him.  Here  is  money,  as 
much  as  will  keep  any  Roman  servant  quiet.  The 
man  will  be  rich  before  we  have  done  with  him. 
I  will  write  a  letter,  which  he  must  deliver ;  but  he 
must  also  know  what  he  has  to  do." 

"  At  twelve  o'clock  to-night  the  contessina  must 
positively  be  at  the  door  of  the  staircase  by  which 
you  entered  yesterday.  Positively  —  do  you  under 
stand  ?  She  will  then  choose  for  herself  between 
what  she  is  suffering  now  and  flight  with  me." 
If  she  chooses  to  fly,  my  mules  and  my  country 
man  will  be  ready.  The  servant  who  admits  me 
had  better  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Rome,  with 
the  money  he  has  got  There  will  be  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  getting  the  contessina  to  the  staircase, 
especially  as  the  count  will  be  in  a  towering  passion 
with  me,  and  will  not  sleep  much.  But  he  will  not 
have  the  smallest  idea  that  I  shall  act  so  suddenly, 
and  he  will  fancy  that  when  once  his  daughter  is 
safe  within  the  walls  for  the  night  she  will  not 
think  of  escaping.  I  do  not  believe  he  even  knows 
of  the  existence  of  this  staircase.  At  all  events,  it 
appears,  from  your  success  in  bribing  the  first  man 
you  met,  that  the  servants  are  devoted  to  her  inter 
ests  and  their  own,  and  not  at  all  to  those  of  her 
father." 

"  I  cannot  conceive,  Nino,"  said  I,  "  why  you  do 
not  put  this  bold  plan  into  execution  without  seeing 
the  count  first,  and  making  the  whole  thing  so  dan- 


266  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

gerous.  If  he  takes  alarm  in  the  night,  he  will 
catch  you  fast  enough  on  his  good  horses,  before 
you  are  at  Trevi." 

"I  am  determined  to  act  as  I  proposed,"  said 
Nine,  "  because  it  is  a  thousand  times  more  honor 
able,  and  because  I  am  certain  that  the  contessina 
would  not  have  me  act  otherwise.  She  will  also 
see  for  herself  that  flight  is  best;  for  I  am  sure 
the  count  will  make  a  scene  of  some  kind  when  he 
comes  home  from  meeting  me.  If  she  knows  she 
can  escape  to-night  she  will  not  suffer  from  what 
he  has  to  say ;  but  without  the  prospect  of  freedom 
she  would  suffer  very  much." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  understand  women,  my 
boy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  understand  women  in  general,"  he  an 
swered,  "  but  I  understand  very  well  the  only  wo 
man  who  exists  for  me  personally.  I  know  that  she 
is  the  soul  of  honor,  and  that  at  the  same  time  she 
has  enough  common  sense  to  perceive  the  circum 
stances  of  her  situation." 

"  But  how  will  you  make  sure  of  not  being  over 
taken  ?  "  I  objected,  making  a  last  feeble  stand 
against  his  plan. 

"  That  is  simple  enough.  My  countryman  from 
Subiaco  knows  every  inch  of  these  hills.  He  says 
that  the  pass  above  Fillettino  is  impracticable  for 
any  animals  save  men,  mules,  and  donkeys.  A 
horse  would  roll  down  at  every  turn.  My  mules 
are  the  best  of  their  kind,  and  there  are  none  like 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  267 

them  here.  By  sunrise  I  shall  be  over  the  Serra 
and  well  on  the  way  to  Ceprano,  or  whatever  place 
I  may  choose  for  joining  the  railroad." 

"  And  I  ?  Will  you  leave  •me  here  to  be  mur 
dered  by  that  Prussian  devil  ?  "  I  asked,  in  some 
alarm. 

"  Why,  no,  padre  mio.  If  you  like,  you  can 
start  for  Rome  at  sunset,  or  as  soon  as  I  return 
from  meeting  the  count ;  or  you  can  get  on  your 
donkey  and  go  up  the  pass,  where  we  shall  overtake 
you.  Nobody  will  harm  you,  in  your  disguise,  and 
your  donkey  is  even  more  sure-footed  than  my 
mules.  It  will  be  a  bright  night,  too,  for  the 
moon  is  full." 

"  Well,  well,  Nino,"  said  I  at  last,  "  I  suppose 
you  will  have  your  own  way,  as  you  always  do  in 
the  world.  And  if  it  must  be  so,  I  will  go  up  the 
pass  alone,  for  I  am  not  afraid  at  all.  It  would  be 
against  all  the  proprieties  that  you  should  be  riding 
through  a  wild  country  alone  at  night  with  the 
young  lady  you  intend  to  marry ;  and  if  I  go  with 
you  there  will  be  nothing  to  be  said,  for  I  am  a 
very  proper  person,  and  hold  a  responsible  position 
in  Rome.  But  for  charity's  sake,  do  not  undertake 
anything  of  this  kind  again  ' ' 

"  Again  ?  "  exclaimed  Nino,  in  surprise.  "  Do 
you  expect  me  to  spend  my  life  in  getting  married, 
—  not  to  say  in  eloping?  " 

"  Well,  I  trust  that  you  will  have  enough  of  it 
this  time." 

"  I  cannot  conceive  that  when  a  man  has  once 


268  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

married  the  woman  he  loves  he  should  ever  look  at 
another,"  said  Nino  gravely. 

"  You  are  a  most  blessed  fellow,"  I  exclaimed. 

Nino  found  my  writing  materials,  which  con 
sisted  of  a  bad  steel  pen,  some  coarse  ruled  paper, 
and  a  wretched  little  saucer  of  ink,  and  be<ran  writ- 

*  o 

ing  an  epistle  to  the  contessina.  I  watched  him  as 
he  wrote,  and  I  smoked  a  little  to  pass  the  time. 
As  I  looked  at  him,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
to-day,  at  least,  he  was  handsome.  His  thick  hair 
curled  about  his  head,  and  his  white  skin  was  as 
pale  and  clear  as  milk.  I  thought  that  his  com 
plexion  had  grown  less  dark  than  it  used  to  be, 
perhaps  from  being  so  much  in  the  theatre  at  night. 
That  takes  the  dark  blood  out  of  the  cheeks.  But 
any  woman  would  have  looked  twice  at  him.  Be 
sides,  there  was,  as  there  is  now,  a  certain  marvel 
ous  neatness  and  spotlessness  about  his  dress  ;  but 
for  his  dusty  boots,  you  would  not  have  guessed  he 
had  been  traveling.  Poor  Nino  !  When  he  had 
not  a  penny  in  the  world  but  what  he  earned  by 
copying  music,  he  used  to  spend  it  all  with  the 
washerwoman,  so  that  Mariuccia  was  often  hor 
rified,  and  I  reproved  him  for  the  extravagance. 

At  last  he  finished  writing,  and  put  his  letter 
into  the  only  envelope  there  was  left.  He  gave 
it  to  me,  and  said  he  would  go  out  and  order  his 
mules  to  be  ready. 

"  I  may  be  gone  all  day,"  he  said,  "  and  I  may 
return  in  a  few  hours.  I  cannot  tell.  In  any 
case,  wait  for  me,  and  give  the  letter  and  all  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  269 

instructions  to  the  man,  if  he  comes."  Then  he 
thanked  me  once  more  very  affectionately,  and 
having  embraced  me  he  went  out. 

I  watched  from  the  window,  and  he  looked  up 
and  waved  his  hand.  I  remember  it  very  dis 
tinctly  —  just  how  he  looked.  His  face  was  paler 
than  ever,  his  lips  were  close  set,  though  they 
smiled,  and  his  eyes  were  sad.  He  is  an  incom 
prehensible  boy  —  he  always  was. 

I  was  left  alone,  with  plenty  of  time  for  medita 
tion,  and  I  assure  you  my  reflections  were  not 
pleasant.  O  love,  love,  what  madness  you  drive  us 
into,  by  day  and  night !  Surely  it  is  better  to  be  a 
sober  professor  of  philosophy  than  to  be  in  love, 
ever  so  wildly,  or  sorrowfully,  or  happily.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  a  parcel  of  idiots  have  tried  to 
prove  that  Dante  loved  philosophy  and  called  it 
Beatrice.  He  would  have  been  a  sober  professor, 
if  that  were  true,  and  a  happier  man.  But  I  am 
sure  it  is  not  true,  for  I  was  once  in  love  myself. 


XVII. 

IT  fell  out  as  Nino  had  anticipated,  and  when  he 
told  me  all  the  details,  some  time  afterwards,  it 
struck  me  that  he  had  shown  an  uncommon  degree 
of  intelligence  in  predicting  that  the  old  count 
would  ride  alone  that  day.  He  had,  indeed,  so 
made  his  arrangements  that  even  if  the  whole 
party  had  come  out  together  nothing  worse  would 
have  occurred  than  a  postponement  of  the  inter 
view  he  sought.  But  he  was  destined  to  get  what 
he  wanted  that  very  day,  namely,  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  with  Von  Lira  alone. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  he  left  me,  and  the 
midday  bell  was  ringing  from  the  church,  while  the 
people  bustled  about,  getting  their  food.  Every 
old  woman  had  a  piece  of  corn  cake,  and  the  rag 
ged  children  got  what  they  could,  gathering  the 
crumbs  in  their  mothers'  aprons.  A  few  rough 
fellows  who  were  not  away  at  work  in  the  valley 
munched  the  maize  bread  with  a  leek  and  a  bit  of 
salt  fish,  and  some  of  them  had  oil  on  it.  Our 
mountain  people  eat  scarcely  anything  else,  unless 
it  be  a  little  meat  on  holidays,  or  an  egg  when  the 
hens  are  laying.  But  they  laugh  and  chatter  over 
the  coarse  fare,  and  drink  a  little  wine  when  they 
can  get  it.  Just  now,  however,  was  the  season  for 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  271 

fasting,  being  the  end  of  Holy  Week,  and  the  peo 
ple  made  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  kept  their  eggs 
and  their  wine  for  Easter. 

When  Nino  went  out  he  found  his  countryman 
and  explained  to  him  what  he  was  to  do.  The  man 
saddled  one  of  the  mules  and  put  himself  on  the 
watch,  while  Nino  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  quaint  old 
inn  and  ate  some  bread.  It  was  the  end  of  March 
when  these  things  happened,  and  a  little  fire  was 
grateful,  though  one  could  do  very  well  without  it. 
He  spread  his  hands  to  the  flame  of  the  sticks,  as 
he  sat  on  the  wooden  settle  by  the  old  hearth,  and 
he  slowly  gnawed  his  corn  cake,  as  though  a  week 
before  he  had  not  been  a  great  man  in  Paris,  din 
ing  sumptuously  with  famous  people.  He  was  not 
thinking  of  that.  He  was  looking,  in  the  flame, 
for  a  fair  face  that  he  saw  continually  before  him, 
day  and  night.  He  expected  to  wait  a  long  time, 
—  some  hours,  perhaps. 

Twenty  minutes  had  not  elapsed,  however,  before 
his  man  came  breathless  through  the  door,  calling 
to  him  to  come  at  once  ;  for  the  solitary  rider  had 
gone  out,  as  was  expected,  and  at  a  pace  that  would 
soon  take  him  out  of  sight.  Nino  threw  his  corn 
bread  to  a  hungry  dog,  that  yelped  as  it  hit  him, 
and  then  fastened  on  it  like  a  beast  of  prey. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  and  his  man  were 
out  of  the  inn.  As  they  ran  to  the  place  where  the 
mule  wras  tied  to  an  old  ring  in  the  crumbling  wall 
of  a  half-ruined  house  near  to  the  ascent  to  the 
castle,  the  man  told  Nino  that  the  fine  gentleman 


272  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

had  ridden  toward  Trevi,  down  the  valley.  Nino 
mounted,  and  hastened  in  the  same  direction. 

As  he  rode,  he  reflected  that  it  would  be  wiser  to 
meet  the  count  on  his  return,  and  pass  him  after 
the  interview,  as  though  going  away  from  Fillet- 
tino.  It  would  be  a  little  harder  for  the  mule ; 
but  such  an  animal,  used  to  bearing  enormous  bur 
dens  for  twelve  hours  at  a  stretch,  could  well  carry 
Nino  only  a  few  miles  of  good  road  before  sunset, 
and  yet  be  fresh  again  by  midnight.  One  of  those 
great  sleek  mules,  if  good-tempered,  will  tire  three 
horses,  and  never  feel  the  worse  for  it.  He  there 
fore  let  the  beast  go  her  own  pace  along  the  road  to 
Trevi,  winding  by  the  brink  of  the  rushing  tor 
rent  :  sometimes  beneath  great  overhanging  cliffs, 
sometimes  through  bits  of  cultivated  land,  where 
the  valley  widens  ;  and  now  and  then  passing  under 
some  beech-trees,  still  naked  and  skeleton-like  in 
the  bright  March  air. 

But  Nino  rode  many  miles,  as  he  thought,  with 
out  meeting  the  count,  dangling  his  feet  out  of  the 
stirrups,  and  humming  snatches  of  song  to  himself 
to  pass  the  time.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  —  a  beau 
tiful  gold  one,  given  him  by  a  very  great  personage 
in  Paris,  —  and  it  was  half  past  two  o'clock.  Then, 
to  avoid  tiring  his  mule,  he  got  off  and  sat  by  a 
tree,  at  a  place  where  he  could  see  far  along  the 
road.  But  three  o'clock  came,  and  a  quarter-past, 
and  he  began  to  fear  that  the  count  had  gone  all 
the  way  to  Trevi.  Indeed,  Trevi  could  not  be  very 
far  off,  he  thought.  So  he  mounted  again,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  273 

paced  down  the  valley.  He  says  that  in  all  that 
time  he  never  thought  once  of  what  he  should  say 
to  the  count  when  he  met  him,  having  determined 
in  his  mind  once  and  for  all  what  was  to  be  asked ; 
to  which  the  only  answer  must  be  "  yes  "  or  "  no." 

At  last,  before  he  reached  the  turn  in  the  valley, 
and  just  as  the  sun  was  passing  down  behind  the 
high  mountains  on  the  left,  beyond  the  stream,  he 
saw  the  man  he  had  come  out  to  meet,  not  a  hun 
dred  yards  away,  riding  toward  him  on  his  great 
horse,  at  a  foot  pace.  It  was  the  count,  and  he 
seemed  lost  in  thought,  for  his  head  was  bent  on 
his  breast,  and  the  reins  hung  carelessly  loose  from 
his  hand.  He  did  not  raise  his  eyes  until  he  was 
close  to  Nino,  who  took  off  his  hat  and  pulled  up 
short. 

The  old  count  was  evidently  very  much  surprised, 
for  he  suddenly  straightened  himself  in  his  saddle, 
with  a  sort  of  jerk,  and  glared  savagely  at  Nino ; 
his  wooden  features  appearing  to  lose  color,  and  his 
long  mustache  standing  out  and  bristling.  He  also 
reined  in  his  horse,  and  the  pair  sat  on  their  beasts, 
not  five  yards  apart,  eying  each  other  like  a  pair 
of  duelists.  Nino  was  the  first  to  speak,  for  he  was 
prepared. 

"  Good-day,  Signor  Conte,"  he  said  as  calmly 
as  he  could.  "  You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  am 
sure."  Lira  looked  more  and  more  amazed,  as  he 
observed  the  cool  courtesy  with  which  he  was  ac 
costed.  But  his  polite  manner  did  not  desert  him 
even  then,  for  he  raised  his  hat. 

18 


274  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

"Good-day,"  lie  said,  briefly,  and  made  his  horse 
move  on.  He  was  too  proud  to  put  the  animal  to 
a  brisker  pace  than  a  walk,  lest  he  should  seem  to 
avoid  an  enemy.  But  Nino  turned  his  mule  at  the 
same  time. 

"  Pardon  the  liberty,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  I  would 
take  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  have  a  few 
words  with  you." 

"  It  is  a  liberty,  as  you  say,  sir,"  replied  Lira, 
stiffly,  and  looking  straight  before  him.  "  But 
since  you  have  met  me,  say  what  you  have  to  say 
quickly."  He  talked  in  the  same  curious  construc 
tions  as  formerly,  but  I  will  spare  you  the  gram 
matical  vagaries. 

"  Some  time  has  elapsed,"  continued  Nino,  "  since 
our  unfortunate  encounter.  I  have  been  in  Paris, 
where  I  have  had  more  than  common  success  in  my 
profession.  From  being  a  very  poor  teacher  of 
Italian  to  the  signorina,  your  daughter,  I  am  be 
come  an  exceedingly  prosperous  artist.  My  char 
acter  is  blameless  and  free  from  all  stain,  in  spite 
of  the  sad  business  in  which  we  were  both  con 
cerned,  and  of  which  you  knew  the  truth  from  the 
dead  lady's  own  lips." 

"  What  then  ?  "  growled  Lira,  who  had  listened 
grimly,  and  was  fast  losing  his  temper.  "What 
then  ?  Do  you  suppose,  Signer  Cardegna,  that  I 
am  still  interested  in  your  comings  and  goings  ?  " 

"  The  sequel  to  what  I  have  told  you,  sir,"  an 
swered  Nino,  bowing  again,  and  looking  very  grave, 
"is  that  I  once  more  most  respectfully  and  hon- 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  275 

estly  ask  you  to  give  me  the  hand  of  your  daughter, 
the  Signorina  Hedwig  von  Lira." 

The  hot  blood  flushed  the  old  soldier's  hard  fea 
tures  to  the  roots  of  his  gray  hair,  and  his  voice 
trembled  as  he  answered  :  — 

"  Do  you  intend  to  insult  me,  sir  ?  If  so,  this 
quiet  road  is  a  favorable  spot  for  settling  the  ques 
tion.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  an  officer  in  the 
service  of  his  majesty  the  King  and  Emperor  re 
fused  to  fight  with  any  one,  —  with  his  tailor,  if 
need  be."  He  reined  his  horse  from  Nino's  side, 
and  eyed  him  fiercely. 

"Signor  Conte,"  answered  Nino  calmly,  "noth 
ing  could  be  further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  in 
sult  you,  or  to  treat  you  in  any  way  with  disrespect. 
And  I  will  not  acknowledge  that  anything  you  can 
say  can  convey  an  insult  to  myself."  Lira  smiled 
in  a  sardonic  fashion.  "  But,"  added  Nino,  "  if  it 
would  give  you  any  pleasure  to  fight,  and  if  you 
have  weapons,  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you.  It 
is  a  quiet  spot,  as  you  say,  and  it  shall  never  be 
said  that  an  Italian  artist  refused  to  fight  a  German 
soldier." 

"  I  have  two  pistols  in  my  holsters,"  said  Lira, 
with  a  smile.  "  The  roads  are  not  safe,  and  I  al 
ways  carry  them." 

"  Then,  sir,  be  good  enough  to  select  one  and  to 
give  me  the  other,  and  we  will  at  once  proceed  to 
business." 

The  count's  manner  changed.     He  looked  grave. 

"  I  have  the  pistols,  Signor  Cardegna,  but  I  do 


276  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

not  desire  to  use  them.  Your  readiness  satisfies  me 
that  you  are  in  earnest,  and  we  will  therefore  not 
fight  for  amusement.  I  need  not  defend  myself 
from  any  charge  of  unwillingness,  I  believe,"  he 
added  proudly. 

"  In  that  case,  sir,"  said  Nino,  "  and  since  we 
have  convinced  each  other  that  we  are  serious  and 
desire  to  be  courteous,  let  us  converse  calmly." 

"Have  you  anything  more  to  say?"  asked  the 
count,  once  more  allowing  his  horse  to  pace  along 
the  dusty  road,  while  Nino's  mule  walked  by  his 
side. 

"  I  have  this  to  say,  Signor  Conte,"  answered 
Nino :  "  that  I  shall  not  desist  from  desiring  the 
honor  of  marrying  your  daughter,  if  you  refuse  me 
a  hundred  times.  I  wish  to  put  it  to  you  whether, 
with  youth,  some  talent,  —  I  speak  modestly,  —  and 
the  prospect  of  a  plentiful  income,  I  am  not  as  well 
qualified  to  aspire  to  the  alliance  as  Baron  Benoni, 
who  has  old  age,  much  talent,  an  enormous  fortune, 
and  the  benefit  of  the  Jewish  faith  into  the  bar 
gain." 

The  count  winced  palpably  at  the  mention  of 
Benoni's  religion.  No  people  are  more  insanely 
prejudiced  against  the  Hebrew  race  than  the  Ger 
mans.  They  indeed  maintain  that  they  have  greater 
cause  than  others,  but  it  always  appears  to  me  that 
they  are  unreasonable  about  it.  Benoni  chanced  to 
be  a  Jew,  but  his  peculiarities  would  have  been 
the  same  had  he  been  a  Christian  or  an  American. 
There  is  only  one  Ahasuerus  Benoni  in  the  world. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  277 

"There  is  no  question  of  Baron  Benoni  here," 
said  the  count  severely,  but  hurriedly.  "Your  ob 
servations  are  beside  the  mark.  The  objections  to 
the  alliance,  as  you  call  it,  are  that  you  are  a  man 
of  the  people,  —  I  do  not  desire  to  offend  you,  —  a 
plebeian,  in  fact ;  you  are  also  a  man  of  uncertain 
fortune,  like  all  singers ;  and  lastly,  you  are  an 
artist.  I  trust  you  will  consider  these  points  as  a 
sufficient  reason  for  my  declining  the  honor  you 
propose." 

"  I  will  only  say,"  returned  Nino,  "  that  I  ven 
ture  to  consider  your  reasons  insufficient,  though  I 
do  not  question  your  decision.  Baron  Benoni  was 
ennobled  for  a  loan  made  to  a  government  in  diffi 
culties  ;  he  was,  by  his  own  account,  a  shoemaker 
by  early  occupation,  and  a  strolling  musician  —  a 
great  artist,  if  you  like  —  by  the  profession  he 
adopted." 

"  I  never  heard  these  facts,"  said  Lira,  "  and  I 
suspect  that  you  have  been  misinformed.  But  I 
do  not  wish  to  continue  the  discussion  of  the  sub 
ject." 

Nino  says  that  after  the  incident  of  the  pistols 
the  interview  passed  without  the  slightest  approach 
to  ill-temper  on  either  side.  They  both  felt  that  if 
they  disagreed  they  were  prepared  to  settle  their 
difficulties  then  and  there,  without  any  further  ado. 

"  Then,  sir,  before  we  part,  permit  me  to  call 
your  attention  to  a  matter  which  must  be  of  im 
portance  to  you,"  said  Nino.  "  I  refer  to  the  hap 
piness  of  the  Signorina  di  Lira.  In  spite  of  your 


278  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

refusal  of  my  offer,  you  will  understand  that  the 
welfare  of  that  lady  must  always  be  to  me  of  the 
greatest  importance." 

Lira  bowed  his  head  stiffly,  and  seemed  inclined 
to  speak,  but  changed  his  mind,  and  held  his  tongue, 
to  see  what  Nino  would  say. 

"  You  will  comprehend,  I  am  sure,"  continued 
the  latter,  "that  in  the  course  of  those  months» 
during  which  I  was  so  far  honored  as  to  be  of  ser 
vice  to  the  contessina,  I  had  opportunities  of  ob 
serving  her  remarkably  gifted  intelligence.  I  am 
now  credibly  informed  that  she  is  suffering  from 
ill  health.  I  have  not  seen  her,  nor  made  any  at 
tempt  to  see  her,  as  you  might  have  supposed,  but 
I  have  an  acquaintance  in  Fillettino  who  has  seen 
her  pass  his  door  daily.  Allow  me  to  remark  that 
a  mind  of  such  rare  qualities  must  grow  sick  if 
driven  to  feed  upon  itself  in  solitude.  I  would  re 
spectfully  suggest  that  some  gayer  residence  than 
Fillettino  would  be  a  sovereign  remedy  for  her  ill 
ness." 

"Your  tone  and  manner,"  replied  the  count, 
"forbid  my  resenting  your  interference.  I  have  no 
reason  to  doubt  your  affection  for  my  daughter,  but 
I  must  request  you  to  abandon  all  idea  of  changing 
my  designs.  If  I  choose  to  bring  my  daughter  to 
a  true  sense  of  her  position  by  somewhat  rigorous 
methods,  it  is  because  I  am  aware  that  the  frailty 
of  reputation  surpasses  the  frailty  of  woman.  I 
will  say  this  to  your  credit,  sir :  that  if  she  has 
not  disgraced  herself,  it  has  been  in  some  measure 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  279 

because  you  wisely  forbore  from  pressing  your  suit 
while  you  were  received  as  an  instructor  beneath 
my  roof.  I  am  only  doing  my  duty  in  trying  to 
make  her  understand  that  her  good  name  has  been 
seriously  exposed,  and  that  the  best  reparation  she 
can  make  lies  in  following  my  wishes,  and  accept 
ing  the  honorable  and  advantageous  marriage  I 
have  provided  for  her.  I  trust  that  this  explana 
tion,  which  I  am  happy  to  say  has  been  conducted 
with  the  strictest  propriety,  will  be  final,  and  that 
you  will  at  once  desist  from  any  further  attempts 
toward  persuading  me  to  consent  to  a  union  that 
I  disapprove." 

Lira  once  more  stopped  his  horse  in  the  road, 
and  taking  off  his  hat  bowed  to  Nino. 

"  And  I,  sir,"  said  Nino,  no  less  courteously, 
"  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  clearly  expressed  an 
swer.  I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  your  decision, 
and  so  long  as  I  live  I  shall  hope  that  you  may 
change  your  mind.  Good-day,  Signer  Conte,"  and 
he  bowed  to  his  saddle. 

"  Good-day,  Signer  Cardegna."  So  they  parted : 
the  count  heading  homeward  toward  Fillettino,  and 
Nino  turning  back  toward  Trevi. 

By  this  manoeuvre  he  conveyed  to  the  count's 
mind  the  impression  that  he  had  been  to  Fillettino 
for  the  day,  and  was  returning  to  Trevi  for  the 
evening;  and  in  reality  the  success  of  his  enter 
prise,  since  his  representations  had  failed,  must  de 
pend  upon  Hedwig's  being  comparatively  free  dur 
ing  the  ensuing  night.  He  determined  to  wait  by  the 


280  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

roadside  until  it  should  be  dark,  allowing  his  mule 
to  crop  whatever  poor  grass  she  could  find  at  this 
season,  and  thus  giving  the  count  time  to  reach 
Fillettino,  even  at  the  most  leisurely  pace. 

He  sat  down  upon  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  allowed 
his  mule  to  graze  at  liberty.  It  was  already  grow 
ing  dark  in  the  valley ;  for  between  the  long 
speeches  of  civility  the  two  had  employed  and  the 
frequent  pauses  in  the  interview,  the  meeting  had 
lasted  the  greater  part  of  an  hour. 

Nino  says  that  while  he  watited  he  reviewed  his 
past  life  and  his  present  situation. 

Indeed,  since  he  had  made  his  first  appearance 
in  the  theatre,  three  months  before,  events  had 
crowded  thick  and  fast  in  his  life.  The  first  sen 
sation  of  a  great  public  success  is  strange  to  one 
who  has  long  been  accustomed  to  live  unnoticed 
and  unhonored  by  the  world.  It  is  at  first  incom 
prehensible  that  one  should  have  suddenly  grown 
to  be  an  object  of  interest  and  curiosity  to  one's 
fellow-creatures,  after  having  been  so  long  a  looker- 
on.  At  first  a  man  does  not  realize  that  the  thing 
he  has  labored  over,  and  studied,  and  worked  on, 
can  be  actually  anything  remarkable.  The  pro 
duction  of  the  every-day  task  has  long  grown  a 
habit,  and  the  details  which  the  artist  grows  to 
admire  and  love  so  earnestly  have  each  brought 
with  them  their  own  reward.  Every  difficulty  van 
quished,  every  image  of  beauty  embodied,  every 
new  facility  of  skill  acquired,  has  been  in  itself  a, 
real  and  enduring  satisfaction  for  its  own  sake,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  281 

for  the  sake  of  its  fitness  to  the  whole,  —  the  beau 
tiful  perfect  whole  he  has  conceived. 

But  he  must  necessarily  forget,  if  he  loves  his 
work,  that  those  who  come  after,  and  are  to  see  the 
expression  of  his  thought,  or  hear  the  mastery  of  his 
song,  see  or  hear  it  all  at  once ;  so  that  the  assemblage 
of  the  lesser  beauties,  over  each  of  which  the  artist 
has  had  great  joy,  must  produce  a  suddenly  multi 
plied  impression  upon  the  understanding  of  the 
outside  world,  which  sees  first  the  embodiment  of 
the  thought,  and  has  then  the  after-pleasure  of  ap 
preciating  the  details.  The  hearer  is  thrilled  with 
a  sense  of  impassioned  beauty,  which  the  singer 
may  perhaps  feel  when  he  first  conceives  the  inter 
pretation  of  the  printed  notes,  but  which  goes  ever 
farther  from  him  as  he  strives  to  approach  it  and 
realize  it ;  and  so  his  admiration  for  his  own  song 
is  lost  in  dissatisfaction  with  the  failings  which 
others  have  not  time  to  see. 

Before  he  is  aware  of  the  change,  a  singer  has 
become  famous,  and  all  men  are  striving  for  a  sight 
of  him,  or  a  hearing.  There  are  few  like  Nino, 
whose  head  was  not  turned  at  all  by  the  flattery 
and  the  praise,  being  occupied  with  other  things. 
As  he  sat  by  the  roadside,  he  thought  of  the  many 
nights  when  the  house  rang  with  cheers  and  cries 
and  all  manner  of  applause  ;  and  he  remembered 
how,  each  time  he  looked  his  audience  in  the  face, 
he  had  searched  for  the  one  face  of  all  faces  that 
.he  cared  to  see,  and  had  searched  in  vain. 

He  seemed  now  to  understand  that  it  was  his 


282  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

honest-hearted  love  for  the  fair  northern  girl  that 
had  protected  him  from  earing  for  the  outer  world, 
and  he  now  realized  what  the  outer  world  was.  He 
fancied  to  himself  what  his  first  three  months  of 
brilliant  success  might  have  been,  in  Rome  and 
Paris,  if  he  had  not  been  bound  by  some  strong  tie 
of  the  heart  to  keep  him  serious  and  thoughtful. 
He  thought  of  the  women  who  had  smiled  upon 
him,  and  of  the  invitations  that  had  besieged  him, 
and  of  the  consternation  that  had  manifested  itself 
when  he  declared  his  intention  of  retiring  to  Rome, 
after  his  brilliant  engagement  in  Paris,  without 
signing  any  further  contract. 

Then  came  the  rapid  journey,  the  excitement, 
the  day  in  Rome,  the  difficulties  of  finding  Fillet- 
tino  ;  and  at  last  he  was  here,  sitting  by  the  road 
side,  and  waiting  for  it  to  be  time  to  carry  into 
execution  the  bold  scheme  he  had  set  before  him. 
His  conscience  was  at  rest,  for  he  now  felt  that  he 
had  done  all  that  the  most  scrupulous  honor  could 
exact  of  him.  He  had  returned  in  the  midst  of  his 
success  to  make  an  honorable  offer  of  marriage,  and 
he  had  been  refused  —  because  he  was  a  plebeian, 
forsooth.  And  he  knew  also  that  the  woman  he 
loved  was  breaking  her  heart  for  him. 

What  wonder  that  he  set  his  teeth,  and  said  to 
himself  that  she  should  be  his,  at  any  price  !  Nino 
has  no  absurd  ideas  about  the  ridicule  that  attaches 
to  loving  a  woman,  and  taking  her  if  necessary. 
He  has  not  been  trained  up  in  the  heart  to  the 
wretched  thing  they  call  society,  which  ruined  me 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  283 

long  ago.  What  he  wants  he  asks  for,  like  a  child, 
and  if  it  is  refused,  and  his  good  heart  tells  him 
that  he  has  a  right  to  it,  he  takes  it,  like  a  man, 
or  like  what  a  man  was  in  the  old  time  before  the 
Englishman  discovered  that  he  is  an  ape.  Ah,  my 
learned  colleagues,  we  are  not  so  far  removed  from 
the  ancestral  monkey  but  that  there  is  serious  dan 
ger  of  our  shortly  returning  to  that  primitive  and 
caudal  state !  And  I  think  that  my  boy  and  the 
Prussian  officer,  as  they  sat  on  their  beasts  and 
bowed,  and  smiled,  and  offered  to  fight  each  other, 
or  to  shake  hands,  each  desiring  to  oblige  the  other, 
like  a  couple  of  knights  of  the  old  ages,  were  a  trifle 
further  removed  from  our  common  gorilla  parent 
age  than  some  of  us. 

But  it  grew  dark,  and  Nino  caught  his  mule 
and  rode  slowly  back  to  the  town,  wondering  what 
would  happen  before  the  sun  rose  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world.  Now,  lest  you  fail  to  understand 
wholly  how  the  matter  passed,  I  must  tell  you  a 
little  of  what  took  place  during  the  time  that  Nino 
was  waiting  for  the  count,  and  Hedwig  was  alone 
in  the  castle  with  Baron  Benoni.  The  way  I  came 
to  know  is  this :  Hedwig  told  the  whole  story  to 
Nino,  and  Nino  told  it  to  me ;  but  many  months 
after  that  eventful  day,  which  I  shall  always  con 
sider  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  my  life.  It 
was  Good  Friday,  last  year,  and  you  may  find  out 
the  day  of  the  month  for  yourselves. 


XVIII. 

As  Nino  had  guessed,  the  count  was  glad  of  a 
chance  to  leave  his  daughter  alone  with  Benoni, 
and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  he  had  ridden  out  so 
early.  The  baron's  originality  and  extraordinary 
musical  talent  seemed  to  Lira  gifts  which  a  woman 
needed  only  to  see  in  order  to  appreciate,  and  which 
might  well  make  her  forget  his  snowy  locks.  Dur 
ing  the  time  of  Benoni's  visit  the  count  had  not  yet 
been  successful  in  throwing  the  pair  together,  for 
Hedwig's  dislike  for  the  baron  made  her  exert  her 
tact  to  the  utmost  in  avoiding  his  society. 

It  so  happened  that  Hedwig,  rising  early,  and 
breathing  the  sweet,  cool  air  from  the  window  of 
her  chamber,  had  seen  Nino  ride  by  on  his  mule, 
when  he  arrived  in  the  morning.  He  did  not  see 
her,  for  the  street  merely  passed  the  corner  of  the 
great  pile,  and  it  was  only  by  stretching  her  head 
far  out  that  Hedwig  could  get  a  glimpse  of  it.  But 
it  amused  her  to  watch  the  country  people  going 
by,  with  their  mules  and  donkeys  and  hampers,  or 
loads  of  firewood ;  and  she  would  often  lean  over 
the  window-sill  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  gazing 
at  the  little  stream  of  mountain  life,  and  sometimes 
weaving  romances  about  the  sturdy  brown  women 
and  their  dark-browed  shepherd  lovers.  Moreover, 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  285 

she  fully  expected  that  Nino  would  arrive  that  day, 
and  had  some  faint  hope  of  seeing  him  go  along 
the  road.  So  she  was  rewarded,  and  the  sight  of 
the  man  she  loved  was  the  first  breath  of  freedom. 

In  a  great  house  like  the  strange  abode  Lira  had 
selected  for  the  seclusion  of  his  daughter,  it  con 
stantly  occurs  that  one  person  is  in  ignorance  of 
the  doings  of  the  others  ;  and  so  it  was  natural  that 
when  Hedwig  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the 
courtyard,  and  the  echoing  crash  of  the  great  doors 
as  they  opened  and  closed,  she  should  think  both 
her  father  and  Benoni  had  ridden  away,  and  would 
be  gone  for  the  morning.  She  would  not  look  out, 
lest  she  should  see  them  and  be  seen. 

I  cannot  tell  you  exactly  what  she  felt  when  she 
saw  Nino  from  her  lofty  window,  but  she  was  cer 
tainly  glad  with  her  whole  heart.  If  she  had  not 
known  of  his  coming  from  my  visit  the  previous 
evening,  she  would  perhaps  have  given  way  to  some 
passionate  outburst  of  happiness  ;  but  as  it  was, 
the  feeling  of  anticipation,  the  sweet,  false  dawn  of 
freedom,  together  with  the  fact  that  she  was  pre 
pared,  took  from  this  first  pleasure  all  that  was 
overwhelming.  She  only  felt  that  he  had  come, 
and  that  she  would  soon  be  saved  from  Benoni ; 
she  could  not  tell  how,  but  she  knew  it,  and  smiled 
to  herself  for  the  first  time  in  months,  as  she  held  a 
bit  of  jewelry  to  her  slender  throat,  before  the  glass, 
wondering  whether  she  had  not  grown  too  thin  and 
pale  to  please  her  lover,  who  had  been  courted  by 
the  beauties  of  the  world  since  he  had  left  her. 


286  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

She  was  ill,  perhaps,  and  tired.  That  was  why 
she  looked  pale  ;  but  she  knew  that  the  first  day  of 
freedom  would  make  her  as  beautiful  as  ever.  She 
spent  the  morning  hours  in  her  rooms  ;  but  when 
she  heard  the  gates  close,  she  fancied  herself  alone 
in  the  great  house,  and  went  down  into  the  sunny 
courtyard,  to  breathe  the  air,  and  to  give  certain 
instructions  to  her  faithful  man.  She  sent  him  to 
my  house,  to  speak  with  me  ;  and  that  was  all  the 
message  he  had,  for  the  present.  However,  he 
knew  well  enough  what  he  was  to  do.  There  was 
a  strong  smell  of  bank-notes  in  the  air,  and  the 
man  kept  his  nose  up. 

Having  dispatched  this  important  business,  Hed- 
wig  set  herself  to  walk  up  and  down  the  paved 
quadrangle,  on  the  sunny  side.  There  was  a  stone 
bench  in  a  warm  corner,  that  looked  inviting.  She 
entered  the  house,  and  brought  out  a  book,  with 
which  she  established  herself  to  read.  She  had 
often  longed  to  sit  there  in  the  afternoon  and  watch 
the  sun  creeping  across  the  flags,  pursued  by  the 
shadow,  till  each  small  bit  of  moss  and  blade  of 
grass  had  received  its  daily  portion  of  warmth. 
For  though  the  place  had  been  cleared  and  weeded, 
the  tiny  green  things  still  grew  in  the  chinks  of 
the  pavement.  In  the  middle  of  the  court  was  a 
well,  with  a  cover  and  yoke  of  old-fashioned  twisted 
iron,  and  a  pulley  to  draw  the  water.  The  air  was 
bright  and  fresh  outside  the  castle,  but  the  rever 
berating  rays  of  the  sun  made  the  quiet  courtyard 
warm  and  still. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  287 

Sick  with  her  daily  torture  of  mind,  the  fair, 
pale  girl  rested  her  at  last,  and,  dreaming  of  liberty, 
drew  strength  from  the  soft  stillness.  The  book 
fell  on  her  lap,  her  head  leaned  back  against  the 
rough  stones  of  the  wall,  and  gradually,  as  she 
watched  from  beneath  her  half-closed  lids  the  play 
of  the  stealing  sunlight,  she  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep. 

She  was  soon  disturbed  by  that  indescribable 
uneasiness  that  creeps  through  our  dreams  when 
we  are  asleep  in  the  presence  of  danger.  A  weird 
horror  possesses  us,  and  makes  the  objects  in  the 
dream  appear  unnatural.  Gradually  the  terror 
grows  on  us  and  thrills  us,  and  we  wake,  with  brist 
ling  hair  and  staring  eyes,  to  the  hideous  conscious 
ness  of  unexpected  peril. 

Hedwig  started  and  raised  her  lids,  following  the 
direction  of  her  dream.  She  was  not  mistaken. 
Opposite  her  stood  her  arch-horror,  Benoni.  He 
leaned  carelessly  against  the  stone  well,  and  his 
bright  brown  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her.  His  tall, 
thin  figure  was  clad,  as  usual,  in  all  the  extreme 
of  fashion,  and  one  of  his  long,  bony  hands  toyed 
with  his  watch-chain.  His  animated  face  seemed 
aglow  with  the  pleasure  of  contemplation,  and  the 
sunshine  lent  a  yellow  tinge  to  his  snowy  hair. 

"  An  exquisite  picture,  indeed,  countess,"  he  said, 
without  moving.  "•  I  trust  your  dreams  were  as 
sweet  as  they  looked  ?  " 

"They  were  sweet,  sir,"  she  answered  coldly, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  she  looked 
steadily  toward  him. 


288  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"I  regret  that  I  should  have  disturbed  them," 
he  said  with  a  deferential  bow ;  and  he  came  and 
sat  by  her  side,  treading  as  lightly  as  a  boy  across 
the  flags.  Hedwig  shuddered,  and  drew  her  dark 
skirts  about  her,  as  he  sat  down. 

"  You  cannot  regret  it  more  than  I  do,"  she  said, 
in  tones  of  ice.  She  would  not  take  refuge  in  the 
house,  for  it  would  have  seemed  like  an  ignomini 
ous  flight.  Benoni  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other, 
and  asked  permission  to  smoke,  which  she  granted 
by  an  indifferent  motion  of  her  fair  head. 

"  So  we  are  left  all  alone  to-day,  countess,"  re 
marked  Benoni,  blowing  rings  of  smoke  in  the 
quiet  air. 

Hedwig  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"  We  are  left  alone,"  he  repeated,  seeing  that 
she  was  silent,  "  and  I  make  it  hereby  my  business 
and  my  pleasure  to  amuse  you." 

"  You  are  good,  sir.  But  I  thank  you.  I  need 
no  entertainment  of  your  devising." 

"  That  is  eminently  unfortunate,"  returned  the 
baron,  with  his  imperturbable  smile,  "  for  I  am  uni 
versally  considered  to  be  the  most  amusing  of  mor 
tals,  —  if,  indeed,  I  am  mortal  at  all,  which  I  some 
times  doubt." 

"  Do  you  reckon  yourself  with  the  gods,  then  ?  " 
asked  Hedwig  scornfully.  "  Which  of  them  are 
you?  Jove?  Dionysus?  Apollo?" 

"  Nay,  rather  Phaethon,  who  soared  too  high  "  — 

"  Your  mythology  is  at  fault,  sir,  — he  drove  too 
low  ;  and  besides,  he  was  not  immortal." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  289 

"  It  is  the  same.  He  was  wide  of  the  mark,  as 
I  am.  Tell  me,  countess,  are  your  wits  always  so 
ready  ?  " 

"  You,  at  least,  will  always  find  them  so,"  she  an 
swered  bitterly. 

"  You  are  unkind.  You  stab  my  vanity,  as  you 
have  pierced  my  heart." 

At  this  speech,  Hedwig  raised  her  eyebrows,  and 
stared  at  him  in  silence.  Any  other  man  would 
have  taken  the  chilling  rebuke,  and  left  her.  Benoni 
put  on  a  sad  expression. 

"  You  used  not  to  hate  me  as  you  do  now,"  he 
said. 

"  That  is  true.  I  hated  you  formerly  because  I 
hated  you." 

"  And  now  ?  "  asked  Benoni,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"I  hate  you  now  because  I  loathe  you."  She 
uttered  this  singular  saying  indifferently,  as  being 
part  of  her  daily  thoughts. 

"  You  have  the  courage  of  your  opinions,  coun 
tess,"  he  replied,  with  a  very  bitter  smile. 

"Yes?  It  is  the  only  courage  a  woman  need 
have."  There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Benoni 
puffed  much  smoke  and  stroked  his  white  mus 
tache.  Hedwig  turned  over  the  leaves  of  her  book, 
as  though  hinting  to  him  to  go.  But  he  had  no 
idea  of  that.  A  man  who  will  not  go  because  a 
woman  loathes  him  will  certainly  not  leave  her  for 
a  hint. 

"  Countess,"  he  began  again,  at  last,  "  will  you 
listen  to  me  ?  " 

19 


290  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  I  suppose  I  must.  I  presume  my  father  has 
left  you  here  to  insult  me  at  your  noble  leisure." 

"  Ah,  countess,  dear  countess,"  —  she  shrank 
away  from  him,  —  "  you  should  know  me  better 
than  to  believe  me  capable  of  anything  so  mon 
strous.  I  insult  you  ?  Gracious  Heaven  !  I,  who 
adore  you  ;  who  worship  the  holy  ground  whereon 
you  tread;  who  would  preserve  the  precious  air 
you  have  breathed,  in  vessels  of  virgin  crystal; 
who  would  give  a  drop  of  my  blood  for  every  word 
you  vouchsafe  me,  kind  or  cruel,  —  I,  who  look  on 
you  as  the  only  divinity  in  this  desolate  heathen 
world,  who  reverence  you  and  do  you  daily  homage, 
who  adore  you  "  — 

"  You  manifest  your  adoration  in  a  singular 
manner,  sir,"  said  Hedwig,  interrupting  him  with 
something  of  her  father's  severity. 

"  I  show  it  as  best  I  can,"  the  old  scoundrel 
pleaded,  working  himself  into  a  passion  of  words. 
"  My  life,  my  fortune,  my  name,  my  honor,  —  I 
cast  them  at  your  feet.  For  you  I  will  be  a  hermit, 
a  saint,  dwelling  in  solitary  places  and  doing  good 
works ;  or  I  will  brave  every  danger  the  narrow 
earth  holds,  by  sea  and  land,  for  you.  What? 
Am  I  decrepit,  or  bent,  or  misshapen,  that  'my 
white  hair  should  cry  out  against  me?  Am  I 
hideous,  or  doting,  or  half-witted,  as  old  men  are  ? 
I  am  young ;  I  am  strong,  active,  enduring.  I 
have  all  the  gifts,  for  you." 

The  baron  was  speaking  French,  and  perhaps 
these  wild  praises  of  himself  might  pass  current  in 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  291 

a  foreign  language.  But  when  Nino  detailed  the 
conversation  to  me  in  our  good,  simple  Italian 
speech,  it  sounded  so  amazingly  ridiculous  that  I 
nearly  broke  my  sides  with  laughing. 

Hedwig  laughed  also,  and  so  loudly  that  the 
foolish  old  man  was  disconcerted.  He  had  suc 
ceeded  in  amusing  her  sooner  than  he  had  expected. 
As  I  have  told  you,  the  baron  is  a  most  impulsive 
person,  though  he  is  poisoned  with  evil  from  his 
head  to  his  heart. 

"  All  women  are  alike,"  he  said,  and  his  manner 
suddenly  changed. 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Hedwig,  recovering  from  her 
merriment,  "  that  if  you  address  them  as  you  have 
addressed  me  you  will  find  them  very  much  alike 
indeed." 

"What  good  can  women  do  in  the  world?" 
sighed  Benoni,  as  though  speaking  with  himself. 
"  You  do  nothing  but  harm  with  your  cold  calcula 
tions  and  your  bitter  jests."  Jledwig  was  silent. 
"  Tell  me,"  he  continued  presently,  "  if  I  speak 
soberly,  by  the  card  as  it  were,  will  you  listen  to 
me?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  said  that  I  will  listen  to  you ! " 
cried  Hedwig,  losing  patience. 

"  Hedwig  von  Lira,  I  hereby  offer  you  my  for 
tune,  my  name,  and  myself.  I  ask  you  to  marry 
me  of  your  own  good-will  and  pleasure."  Hedwig 
once  more  raised  her  brows. 

"  Baron  Benoni,  I  will  not  marry  you,  either  for 
your  fortune,  your  name,  or  yourself,  —  nor  for  any 


292  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

other  consideration  under  heaven.  And  I  will  ask 
you  not  to  address  me  by  my  Christian  name." 
There  was  a  long  silence  after  this  speech,  and 
Benoni  carefully  lighted  a  second  cigarette.  Iled- 
wig  would  have  risen  and  entered  the  house,  but 
she  felt  safer  in  the  free  air  of  the  sunny  court. 
As  for  Benoni,  he  had  no  intention  of  going. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware,  countess,"  he  said  at 
last,  coldly  eyeing  her,  "  that  your  father  has  set 
his  heart  upon  our  union  ?  " 

"  I  am  aware  of  it." 

"  But  you  are  not  aware  of  the  consequences 
of  your  refusal.  I  am  your  only  chance  of  free 
dom.  Take  me,  and  you  have  the  world  at  your 
feet.  Refuse  me,  and  you  will  languish  in  this 
hideous  place  so  long  as  your  affectionate  father 
pleases." 

"  Do  you  know  my  father  so  little,  sir,"  asked 
Hedwig  very  proudly,  "  as  to  suppose  that  his 
daughter  will  ever  yield  to  force?" 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  talk  of  not  yielding,  and  it  is 
quite  another  to  bear  prolonged  suffering  with  con 
stancy,"  returned  Benoni  coolly,  as  though  he  were 
discussing  a  general  principle  instead  of  expound 
ing  to  a  woman  the  fate  she  had  to  expect  if  she 
refused  to  marry  him.  "  I  never  knew  any  one 
who  did  not  talk  bravely  of  resisting  torture  until 
it  was  applied.  Oh,  you  will  be  weak  at  the  end, 
countess,  believe  me.  You  are  weak  now,  and 
changed,  though  perhaps  you  would  be  better 
pleased  if  I  did  not  notice  it.  Yes,  I  smile  now, 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  293 

—  I  laugh.  I  can  afford  to.  You  can  be  merry 
over  me  because  I  love  you,  but  I  can  be  merry  at 
what  you  must  suffer  if  you  will  not  love  me.  Do 
not  look  so  proud,  countess.  You  know  what  fol 
lows  pride,  if  the  proverb  lies  not." 

During  this  insulting  speech  Hedwig  had  risen 
to  her  feet,  and  in  the  act  to  go  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him  in  utter  scorn.  She  could  not  com 
prehend  the  nature  of  a  man  who  could  so  coldly 
threaten  her.  If  ever  any  one  of  us  can  fathom 
Benoni's  strange  character,  we  may  hope  to  under 
stand  that  phase  of  it  along  with  the  rest.  He 
seemed  as  indifferent  to  his  own  mistakes  and 
follies  as  to  the  sufferings  of  others. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  whatever  may  be  the  will  of 
my  father,  I  will  not  permit  you  to  discuss  it,  still 
less  to  hold  up  his  anger  as  a  threat  to  scare  me. 
You  need  not  follow  me,"  she  added,  as  he  rose. 

"  I  will  follow  you,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not, 
countess,"  he  said  fiercely ;  and  as  she  flew  across 
the  court  to  the  door  he  strode  swiftly  by  her  side, 
hissing  his  words  into  her  ear.  "  I  will  follow  you 
to  tell  you  that  I  know  more  of  you  than  you  think, 
and  I  know  how  little  right  you  have  to  be  so 
proud.  1  know  your  lover.  I  know  of  your  meet 
ings,  your  comings  and  your  goings  "  —  They 
reached  the  door,  but  Benoni  barred  the  way  with 
his  long  arm,  and  seemed  about  to  lay  a  hand  upon 
her  wrist,  so  that  she  shrank  back  against  the 
heavy  doorpost,  in  an  agony  of  horror  and  loathing 
and  wounded  pride.  "I  know  Cardegna,  and  I 


294  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

knew  the  poor  baroness,  who  killed  herself  because 
he  basely  abandoned  her.  Ah,  you  never  heard 
the  truth  before?  I  trust  it  is  pleasant  to  you. 
As  he  left  her,  he  has  left  you.  He  will  never 
come  back.  I  saw  him  in  Paris  three  weeks  ago. 
I  could  tell  tales  not  fit  for  your  ears.  And  for 
him  you  will  die  in  this  horrible  place,  unless  you 
consent.  For  him  you  have  thrown  away  every 
thing,  —  name,  fame,  and  happiness,  —  unless  you 
will  take  all  these  from  me.  Oh,  I  know,  —  you 
will  cry  out  that  it  is  untrue  ;  but  my  eyes  are 
good,  though  you  call  me  old  !  For  this  treacher 
ous  boy,  with  his  curly  hair,  you  have  lost  the  only 
thing  that  makes  woman  human,  —  your  reputa 
tion  !  "  And  Benoni  laughed  that  horrid  laugh  of 
his,  till  the  court  rang  again,  as  though  there  were 
devils  in  every  corner,  and  beneath  every  eave,  and 
everywhere. 

People  who  are  loud  in  their  anger  are  sometimes 
dangerous,  for  it  is  genuine  while  it  lasts.  People 
whose  anger  is  silent  are  generally  either  incapable 
of  honest  wrath  or  cowards.  But  there  are  some 
in  the  world  whose  passion  shows  itself  in  few 
words  but  strong  ones,  and  proceeds  instantly  to 
action. 

Hedwig  had  stood  back  against  the  stone  casing 
of  the  entrance,  at  first,  overcome  with  the  intensity 
of  what  she  suffered.  But  as  Benoni  laughed  she 
moved  slowly  forwards  till  she  was  close  to  him, 
and  only  his  outstretched  arm  barred  the  door 
way. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  295 

"  Every  word  you  have  spoken  is  a  lie,  and  you 
know  it.  Let  me  pass,  or  I  will  lull  you  with  my 
hands!" 

The  words  came  low  and  distinct  to  his  excited 
ear,  like  the  tolling  of  a  passing  bell.  Her  face 
must  have  been  dreadful  to  see,  and  Benoni  was 
suddenly  fascinated  and  terrified  at  the  concen 
trated  anger  that  blazed  in  her  blue  eyes.  His  arm 
dropped  to  his  side,  and  Hedwig  passed  proudly 
through  the  door,  in  all  the  majesty  of  innocence, 
gathering  her  skirts,  lest  they  should  touch  his  feet 
or  any  part  of  him.  She  never  hastened  her  step 
as  she  ascended  the  broad  stairs  within  and  went  to 
her  own  little  sitting-room,  made  gay  with  books 
and  flowers  and  photographs  from  Rome.  Nor 
was  her  anger  followed  by  any  passionate  outburst 
of  tears.  She  sat  herself  down  by  the  window  and 
looked  out,  letting  the  cool  breeze  from  the  open 
casement  fan  her  face. 

Hedwig,  too,  had  passed  through  a  violent  scene 
that  day,  and,  having  conquered,  she  sat  down  to 
think  over  it.  She  reflected  that  Benoni  had  but 
used  the  same  words  to  her  that  she  had  daily 
heard  from  her  father's  lips.  False  as  was  their 
accusation,  she  submitted  to  hearing  her  father 
speak  them,  for  she  had  no  knowledge  of  their  im 
port,  and  only  thought  him  cruelly  hard  with  her. 
But  that  a  stranger  —  above  all,  a  man  who  as 
pired,  or  pretended  to  aspire,  to  her  hand  —  should 
attempt  to  usurp  the  same  authority  of  speech  was 
beyond  all  human  endurance.  She  felt  sure  that 


296  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

her  father's  anger  would  all  be  turned  against  Be- 
noni  when  he  heard  her  story. 

As  for  what  her  tormentor  had  said  of  Nino,  she 
could  have  killed  him  for  saying  it,  but  she  knew 
that  it  was  a  lie ;  for  she  loved  Nino  with  all  her 
heart,  and  no  one  can  love  wholly  without  trusting 
wholly.  Therefore  she  put  away  the  evil  sugges 
tion  from  herself,  and  loaded  all  its  burden  of 
treachery  upon  Benoni. 

How  long  she  sat  by  the  window,  compelling  her 
strained  thoughts  into  order,  no  one  can  tell.  It 
might  have  been  an  hour,  or  more,  for  she  had  lost 
the  account  of  the  hours.  She  was  roused  by  a 
knock  at  the  door  of  her  sitting-room,  and  at  her 
bidding  the  man  entered  who,  for  the  trifling  con 
sideration  of  about  a  thousand  francs,  first  and  last, 
made  communication  possible  between  Hedwig  and 
myself. 

This  man's  name  is  Temistocle,  —  Themistocles, 
no  less.  All  servants  are  Themistocles,  or  Orestes, 
or  Joseph,  just  as  all  gardeners  are  called  Antonio. 
Perhaps  he  deserves  some  description.  He  is  a 
type,  short,  wiry,  and  broad-shouldered,  with  a  cun 
ning  eye,  a  long,  hooked  nose,  and  plentiful  black 
y  whiskers,  and  coarse,  closely  cropped  black  hair. 
His  motions  are  servile  to  the  last  degree,  and  he 
addresses  every  one  in  authority  as  "  excellency," 
on  the  principle  that  it  is  better  to  give  too  much 
titular  homage  than  too  little.  He  is  as  wily  as 
a  fox,  and  so  long  as  you  have  money  in  your 
pocket,  as  faithful  as  a  hound  and  as  silent  as  the 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  297 

grave.  I  perceive  that  these  are  precisely  the 
epithets  at  which  the  baron  scoffed,  saying  that  a 
man  can  be  praised  only  by  comparing  him  with 
the  higher  animals,  or  insulted  by  comparison  with 
himself  and  his  kind.  We  call  a  man  a  fool,  an 
idiot,  a  coward,  a  liar,  a  traitor,  and  many  other 
things  applicable  only  to  man  himself.  However,  I 
will  let  my  description  stand,  for  it  is  a  very  good 
one ;  and  Temistocle  could  be  induced,  for  money, 
to  adapt  himself  to  almost  any  description,  and  he 
certainly  had  earned,  at  one  time  or  another,  most 
of  the  titles  I  have  enumerated. 

He  told  me,  months  afterwards,  that  when  he 
passed  through  the  courtyard,  on  his  way  to  Hed- 
wig's  apartment,  he  found  Benoni  seated  on  the 
stone  bench,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  gazing  into 
space,  so  that  he  passed  close  before  him  without 
being;  noticed. 


XIX. 

TEMISTOCLE  closed  the  door,  then  opened  it 
again,  and  looked  out,  after  which  he  finally  shut 
it,  and  seemed  satisfied.  He  advanced  with  cau 
tious  tread  to  where  Hedwig  sat  by  the  window. 

"  Well?  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  inquired, 
without  looking  at  him.  It  is  a  hard  thing  for  a 
proud  and  noble  girl  to  be  in  the  power  of  a  ser 
vant.  The  man  took  Nino's  letter  from  his  pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  her  upon  his  open  palm.  Hedwig 
tried  hard  to  take  it  with  indifference,  but  she  ac 
knowledges  that  her  fingers  trembled  and  her  heart 
beat  fast. 

"  I  was  to  deliver  a  message  to  your  excellency, 
from  the  old  gentleman,"  said  Temistocle,  coming 
close  to  her  and  bending  down. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Hedwig,  opening  the  envelope. 

"  Yes,  excellency.  He  desired  me  to  say  that  it 
was  absolutely  and  most  indubitably  necessary  that 
your  excellency  should  be  at  the  little  door  to-night 
at  twelve  o'clock.  Do  not  fear,  Signora  Contes- 
sina ;  we  can  manage  it  very  well." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  what  you  advise  me  to 
fear,  or  not  to  fear,"  answered  Hedwig,  haughtily ; 
for  she  could  not  bear  to  feel  that  the  man  should 
counsel  her  or  encourage  her. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  299 

"  Pardon,  excellency ;  I  thought "  —  began  Te- 
mistocle  humbly  ;  but  Hedwig  interrupted  him. 

"  Temistocle,"  she  said,  "  I  have  no  money  to 
give  you,  as  I  told  you  yesterday.  But  here  is  an 
other  stone,  like  the  other.  Take  it,  and  arrange 
this  matter  as  best  you  can." 

Temistocle  took  the  jewel  and  bowed  to  the 
ground,  eying  curiously  the  little  case  from  which 
she  had  taken  it. 

"  I  have  thought  and  combined  everything,"  he 
said.  "  Your  excellency  will  see  that  it  is  best  you 
should  go  alone  to  the  staircase ;  for,  as  we  say,  a 
mouse  makes  less  noise  than  a  rat.  When  you 
have  descended,  lock  the  door  at  the  top  behind 
you ;  and  when  you  reach  the  foot  of  the  staircase, 
keep  that  door  open.  I  will  have  brought  the  old 
gentleman,  by  that  time,  and  you  will  let  me  in.  I 
shall  go  out  by  the  great  gate." 

"  Why  not  go  with  me?  "  inquired  Hedwig. 

"  Because,  your  excellency,  one  person  is  less 
likely  to  be  seen  than  two.  Your  excellency  will 
let  me  pass  you.  I  will  mount  the  staircase,  unlock 
the  upper  door,  and  change  the  key  to  the  other 
side.  Then  I  will  watch,  and  if  any  one  comes  I 
will  lock  the  door  and  slip  away  till  he  is  gone." 

"  I  do  not  like  the  plan,"  said  Hedwig.  "  I 
would  rather  let  myself  in  from  the  staircase." 

"  But  suppose  any  one  were  waiting  on  the  inside, 
and  saw  you  come  back? " 

"  That  is  true.  Give  me  the  keys,  Temistocle, 
and  a  taper  and  some  matches." 


300  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Your  excellency  is  a  paragon  of  courage,"  re 
plied  the  servant,  obsequiously.  "  Since  yesterday 
I  have  carried  the  keys  in  my  pocket.  I  will  bring 
you  the  taper  this  evening." 

"  Bring  it  now.     I  wish  to  be  ready." 

Temistocle  departed  on  the  errand.  When  he 
returned,  Hedwig  ordered  him  to  give  a  message  to 
her  father. 

"  When  the  count  comes  home,  ask  him  to  see 
me,"  she  said.  Temistocle  bowed  once  more,  and 
was  gone. 

Yes,  she  would  see  her  father,  and  tell  him 
plainly  what  she  had  suffered  from  Benoni.  She 
felt  that  no  father,  however  cruel,  would  allow  his 
daughter  to  be  so  treated,  and  she  would  detail  the 
conversation  to  him. 

She  had  not  been  able  to  read  Nino's  letter,  for 
she  feared  the  servant,  knowing  the  writing  to  be 
Italian  and  legible  to  him.  Now  she  hastened  to 
drink  in  its  message  of  love.  You  cannot  suppose 
that  I  know  exactly  what  he  said,  but  he  certainly 
set  forth  at  some  length  his  proposal  that  she 
should  leave  her  father,  and  escape  with  her  lover 
from  the  bondage  in  which  she  was  now  held.  He 
told  her  modestly  of  his  success,  in  so  far  as  it  was 
necessary  that  she  should  understand  his  position. 
It  must  have  been  a  very  eloquent  letter,  for  it 
nearly  persuaded  her  to  a  step  of  which  she  had 
wildly  dreamed,  indeed,  but  which  in  her  calmer 
moments  she  regarded  as  impossible. 

The   interminable   afternoon  was  drawing  to  a 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  301 

close,  and  once  more  she  sat  by  the  open  window, 
regardless  of  the  increasing  cold.  Suddenly  it  all 
came  over  her,  —  the  tremendous  importance  of  the 
step  she  was  about  to  take,  if  she  should  take  Nino 
at  his  word,  and  really  break  from  one  life  into  an 
other.  The  long-restrained  tears,  that  had  been 
bound  from  flowing  through  all  Benoni's  insults 
and  her  own  anger,  trickled  silently  down  her 
cheek,  no  longer  pale,  but  bright  and  flushed  at  the 
daring  thought  of  freedom. 

At  first  it  seemed  far  off,  as  seen  in  a  magician's 
glass.  She  looked,  and  saw  herself  as  another  per 
son,  acting  a  part  only  half  known  and  half  under 
stood.  But  gradually  her  own  individual  soul  en 
tered  into  the  figure  of  her  imagination ;  her  eager 
heart  beat  fast ;  she  breathed  and  moved  and 
acted  in  the  future.  She  was  descending  the  dark 
steps  alone,  listening  with  supernatural  sense  of 
sound  for  her  lover's  tread  without.  It  came ;  the 
door  opened,  and  she  was  in  his  arms,  —  in  those 
strong  arms  that  could  protect  her  from  insult  and 
tyranny  and  cruel  wooing ;  out  in  the  night,  on  the 
road,  in  Eome,  married,  free  and  made  blessed  for 
ever.  On  a  sudden  the  artificial  imagery  of  her 
laboring  brain  fell  away,  and  the  thought  crossed 
her  mind  that  henceforth  she  must  be  an  orphan. 
Her  father  would  never  speak  to  her  again,  or  ever 
own  for  his  a  daughter  that  had  done  such  a  deed. 
Like  icy  water  poured  upon  a  fevered  body,  the 
idea  chilled  her  and  woke  her  to  reality. 

Did  she  love  her  father  ?    She  had  loved  him,  — 


302  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

yes,  until  she  crossed  his  will.  She  loved  him  still, 
when  she  could  be  so  horror-struck  at  the  thought 
of  incurring  his  lasting  anger.  Could  she  bear  it  ? 
Could  she  find  in  her  lover  all  that  she  must  re 
nounce  of  a  father's  care  and  a  father's  affection,  — 
stern  affection,  that  savored  of  the  despot,  —  but 
could  she  hurt  him  so  ? 

The  image  of  her  father  seemed  to  take  another 
shape,  and  gradually  to  assume  the  form  and  fea 
tures  of  the  one  man  of  the  world  whom  she  hated, 
converting  itself  little  by  little  into  Benoni.  She 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  terror  staunched  the 
tears  that  had  flown  afresh  at  the  thought  of  or 
phanhood. 

A  knock  at  the  door.  She  hastily  concealed  the 
crumpled  letter. 

"  Come  in !  "  she  answered  boldly ;  and  her 
father,  moving  mechanically,  with  his  stick  in  his 
hand,  entered  the  room.  He  came  as  he  had  dis 
mounted  from  his  horse,  in  his  riding  boots,  and 
his  broad  felt  hat  caught  by  the  same  fingers  that 
held  the  stick. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,  Hedwig,"  he  said  coldly, 
depositing  his  hat  upon  the  table.  Then,  when  he 
had  slowly  sat  himself  down  in  an  armchair,  he 
added,  "  Here  I  am."  Hedwig  had  risen  respect 
fully,  and  stood  before  him  in  the  twilight.  "  What 
do  you  wish  to  say  ?  "  he  asked  in  German.  "  You 
do  not  often  honor  your  father  by  requesting  his 
society." 

Hedwig  stood  one  moment  in  silence.     Her  first 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  303 

impulse  was  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  im 
plore  him  to  let  her  marry  Nino.  The  thought 
swept  away  for  the  time  the  remembrance  of  Be- 
noni  and  of  what  she  had  to  tell.  But  a  second 
sufficed  to  give  her  the  mastery  of  her  tongue  and 
memory,  which  women  seldom  lose  completely,  even 
at  the  most  desperate  moments. 

"  I  desired  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  that  Baron 
Benoni  took  advantage  of  your  absence  to-day  to 
insult  me  beyond  my  endurance."  She  looked 
boldly  into  her  father's  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  with  great  coolness.  "  Will  you 
be  good  enough  to  light  one  of  those  candles  011  the 
table,  and  to  close  the  window  ?  " 

Hedwig  obeyed  in  silence,  and  once  more  planted 
herself  before  him,  her  slim  figure  looking  ghostly 
between  the  fading  light  of  the  departing  day  and 
the  yellow  flame  of  the  candle. 

"  You  need  not  assume  this  theatrical  air,"  said 
Lira  calmly.  "  I  presume  you  mean  that  Baron 
Benoni  asked  you  to  marry  him?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  thing,  and  is  an  insult  in  it 
self,"  replied  Hedwig,  without  changing  her  posi 
tion. 

"  I  suspect  that  it  is  the  principal  thing,"  re 
marked  the  count.  "  Very  good  ;  he  asked  you  to 
marry  him.  He  has  my  full  authority  to  do  so. 
What  then?" 

"  You  are  my  father,"  answered  Hedwig,  stand 
ing  like  a  statue  before  him,  "  and  you  have  the 
right  to  offer  me  whom  you  please  for  a  husband. 


304  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

But  you  have  no  authority  to  allow  me  to  be  wan 
tonly  insulted." 

"  J  think  that  you  are  out  of  your  mind,"  said 
the  count,  with  imperturbable  equanimity.  "  You 
grant  that  I  may  propose  a  suitor  to  you,  and  you 
call  it  a  wanton  insult  when  that  suitor  respectfully 
asks  the  honor  of  your  hand,  merely  because  he  is 
not  young  enough  to  suit  your  romantic  tastes, 
which  have  been  fostered  by  this  wretched  south 
ern  air.  It  is  unfortunate  that  my  health  requires 
me  to  reside  in  Italy.  Had  you  enjoyed  an  orderly 
Prussian  education,  you  would  have  held  different 
views  in  regard  to  filial  duty.  Refuse  Baron  Be- 
noni  as  often  as  you  like.  I  will  stay  here,  and  so 
will  he,  I  fancy,  until  you  change  your  mind.  I 
am  not  tired  of  this  lordly  mountain  scenery,  and 
my  health  improves  daily.  We  can  pass  the  sum 
mer  and  winter,  and  more  summers  and  winters, 
very  comfortably  here.  If  there  is  anything  you 
would  like  to  have  brought  from  Rome,  inform  me, 
and  I  will  satisfy  any  reasonable  request." 

"  The  baron  has  already  had  the  audacity  to  in 
form  me  that  you  would  keep  me  a  prisoner  until 
I  should  marry  him,"  said  Hedwig ;  and  her  voice 
trembled  as  she  remembered  how  Benoni  had  told 
her  so. 

"  I  doubt  not  that  Benoni,  who  is  a  man  of  con 
summate  tact,  hinted  delicately  that  he  would  not 
desist  from  pressing  his  suit.  You,  well  knowing 
my  determination,  and  carried  away  by  your  evil 
temper,  have  magnified  into  a  threat  what  he  never 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  305 

intended  as  such.  Pray  let  me  hear  no  more  about 
these  fancied  insults."  The  old  man  smiled  grimly 
at  his  keen  perception. 

"  You  shall  hear  me,  nevertheless,"  said  Hedwig 
in  a  low  voice,  coming  close  to  the  table,  and  rest 
ing  one  hand  upon  it  as  though  for  support. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  count,  "  I  desire  you 
to  abandon  this  highly  theatrical  and  melodramatic 
tone.  I  am  not  to  be  imposed  upon." 

"  Baron  Benoni  did  not  confine  himself  to  the 
course  you  describe.  He  said  many  things  to  me 
that  I  did  not  understand,  but  I  comprehended 
their  import.  He  began  by  making  absurd  speech 
es,  at  which  I  laughed.  Then  he  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  as  I  had  long  known  he  would  do  as  soon  as 
you  gave  him  the  opportunity.  I  refused  his  offer. 
Then  he  insisted,  saying  that  you,  sir,  had  deter 
mined  on  this  marriage,  and  would  keep  me  a  close 
prisoner  here  until  the  torture  of  the  situation  broke 
down  my  strength.  I  assured  him  that  I  would 
never  yield  to  force.  Then  he  broke  out  angrily, 
telling  me  to  my  face  that  I  had  lost  everything,  — 
name,  fame,  and  honor,  —  how,  I  cannot  tell ;  but 
he  said  those  words,  adding  that  I  could  regain 
my  reputation  only  by  consenting  to  marry  him." 

The  old  count  had  listened  at  first  with  a  sarcas 
tic  smile,  then  with  increased  attention.  Finally, 
as  Hedwig  repeated  the  shameful  insult,  his  brave 
old  blood  boiled  up  in  his  breast,  and  he  sat  grip 
ping  the  two  arms  of  his  chair  fiercely,  while  his 
gray  eyes  shot  fire  from  beneath  the  shaggy  brows. 

20 


306  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Hedwig,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "  are  you  speaking 
the  truth  ?     Did  he  say  those  words  ?  " 
/     "  Yes,  my  father,  and  more  like  them.     Are  you 
surprised  ?  "  she  asked  bitterly.     "  You  have  said 
them  yourself  to  me." 

The  old  man's  rage  rose  furiously,  and  he  strug 
gled  to  his  feet.  He  was  stiff  with  riding  and 
rheumatism,  but  he  was  too  angry  to  sit  still. 

"  I  ?  Yes,  I  have  tried  to  show  you  what  might 
have  happened,  and  to  warn  you  and  frighten  you, 
as  you  should  be  frightened.  Yes,  and  I  was  right, 
for  you  shall  not  drag  my  name  in  the  dirt.  But 
another  man,  —  Benoni !  "  He  could  not  speak, 
for  his  wrath,  and  his  tall  figure  moved  rapidly 
about  the  room,  his  heart  seeking  expression  in  ac 
tion.  He  looked  like  some  forgotten  creature  of 
harm,  suddenly  galvanized  into  destructive  life.  It 
was  well  that  Benoni  was  not  within  reach. 

Hedwig  stood  calmly  by  the  table,  proud  in  her 
soul  that  her  father  should  be  roused  to  such  fury. 
The  old  man  paused  in  his  walk,  came  to  her,  and 
with  his  hand  turned  her  face  to  the  light,  gazing 
savagely  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  never  told  me  a  lie,"  he  growled  out. 

"  Never,"  she  said  boldly,  as  she  faced  him  scorn 
fully.  He  knew  his  own  temper  in  his  child,  and 
was  satisfied.  The  soldier's  habit  of  self-control 
was  strong  in  him,  and  the  sardonic  humor  of  his 
nature  served  as  a  garment  to  the  thoughts  he  har 
bored. 

"  It  appears,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  to  spend  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  307 

remainder  of  an  honorable  life  in  fighting  with  a 
pack  of  hounds.  I  nearly  killed  your  old  acquaint 
ance,  the  Signer  Professore  Cardegna,  this  after 
noon."  Hedwig  staggered  back,  and  turned  pale. 

"  What !  Is  he  wounded  ?  "  she  gasped  out,  press 
ing  her  hand  to  her  side. 

"  Ha !  That  touches  you  almost  as  closely  as 
Benoni's  insult,"  he  said  savagely.  "  I  am  glad  of 
it.  I  repent  me,  and  wish  that  I  had  killed  him. 
We  met  on  the  road,  and  he  had  the  impertinence 
to  ask  me  for  your  hand,  —  I  am  sick  of  these  daily 
proposals  of  marriage  ;  and  then  I  inquired  if  he 
meant  to  insult  me." 

Hedwig  leaned  heavily  upon  the  table,  in  an 
agony  of  suspense. 

"  The  fellow  answered  that  if  I  were  insulted  he 
was  ready  to  fight  then  and  there,  in  the  road,  with 
my  pistols.  He  is  no  coward,  your  lover,  —  I  will 
say  that.  The  end  of  it  was  that  I  came  home,  and 
he  did  not." 

Hedwig  sank  into  the  chair  that  her  father  had 
left,  and  hid  her  face. 

"  Oh,  you  have  killed  him  !  "  she  moaned. 

"  No,"  said  the  count  shortly ;  "  I  did  not  touch 
a  hair  of  his  head.  But  he  rode  away  toward 
Trevi."  Hedwig  breathed  again.  "  Are  you  sat 
isfied  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  hard  smile,  enjoying  the 
terror  he  had  excited. 

"  Oh,  how  cruel  you  are,  my  father !  "  she  said, 
in  a  broken  voice. 

"  I  tell  you  that  if  I  could  cure  you  of  your  in- 


308  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

sane  passion  for  this  singer  fellow,  I  would  be  as 
cruel  as  the  Inquisition,"  retorted  the  count.  "  Now 
listen  to  me.  You  will  not  be  troubled  any  longer 
with  Benoni,  —  the  beast !  I  will  teach  him  a  les 
son  of  etiquette.  You  need  not  appear  at  dinner 
to-night.  But  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  our  resi 
dence  here  is  at  an  end.  When  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  act  sensibly,  and  to  forget  the  Signor 
Cardegna,  you  shall  return  to  society,  where  you 
may  select  a  husband  of  your  own  position  and  for 
tune,  if  yo\t*  choose ;  or  you  may  turn  Romanist, 
and  go  into  a  convent,  arpl  devote  yourself  to  good 
works  and  idolatry,  or  anything  else.  I  do  not  pre 
tend  to  care  what  becomes  of  you,  so  long  as  you 
show  any  decent  respect  for  your  name.  But  if  you 
persist  in  pining  and  moaning  and  starving  yourself, 
because  I  will  not  allow  you  to  turn  dancer  and 
marry  a  strolling  player,  you  will  have  to  remain 
here.  I  am  not  such  pleasant  company  when  I  am 
bored,  I  can  tell  you,  and  my  enthusiasm  for  the 
beauties  of  nature  is  probably  transitory." 

"  I  can  bear  anything,  if  you  will  remove  Be 
noni,"  said  Hedwig  quietly,  as  she  rose  from  her 
seat.  But  the  pressure  of  the  iron  keys  that  she 
had  hidden,  in  her  bosom  gave  her  a  strange  sen 
sation. 

"Never  fear,"  said  the  count,  taking  his  hat 
from  the  table.  "  You  shall  be  amply  avenged  of 
Benoni  and  his  foul  tongue.  I  may  not  love  my 
daughter,  but  no  one  shall  insult  her.  I  will  have 
a  word  with  him  this  evening." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  309 

"  I  thank  you  for  that,  at  least,"  said  Hedwig,  as 
he  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  said  he,  and  put  his  hand 
on  the  lock. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  Hedwig.  She  ran 
swiftly  to  him,  and  clasped  her  hands  upon  his  arm. 

"  Father !  "  she  cried,  pleadingly. 

"What?" 

"  Father,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  He  hesitated  one 
moment. 

"  No,"  he  said  sternly  ;  "  you  disobey  me ;  "  and 
he  went  out  in  rough  haste.  The  door  closed  be 
hind  him,  and  she  was  left  standing  alone.  What 
could  she  do,  poor  child  ?  For  months  he  had  tor 
mented  her  and  persecuted  her,  and  now  she  had 
asked  him  plainly  if  she  still  held  a  place  in  his 
heart,  and  he  had  coldly  denied  it. 

A  gentle,  tender  maiden,  love-sick  and  mind-sick, 
yearning  so  piteously  for  a  little  mercy,  or  sym 
pathy,  or  kindness,  and  treated  like  a  mutinous  sol 
dier,  because  she  loved  so  honestly  and  purely,  — 
is  it  any  wonder  that  her  hand  went  to  her  bosom 
and  clasped  the  cold,  hard  keys  that  promised  her 
life  and  freedom  ?  I  think  not.  I  have  no  patience 
with  young  women  who  allow  themselves  to  be 
carried  away  by  an  innate  bad  taste  and  love  for 
effect,  quarreling  with  the  peaceful  destiny  that  a 
kind  Providence  has  vouchsafed  them,  and  with  an 
existence  which  they  are  too  dull  to  make  interest 
ing  to  themselves  or  to  any  one  else  ;  finally  mak 
ing  a  desperate  and  foolish  dash  at  notoriety  by  a 


310  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

runaway  marriage  with  the  first  scamp  they  can 
find,  and  repenting  in  poverty  and  social  ostracism 
the  romance  they  conceived  in  wealth  and  luxury. 
They  deserve  their  fate.  But  when  a  sensitive  girl 
is  motherless,  cut  off  from  friends  and  pleasures, 
presented  with  the  alternative  of  solitude  or  mar 
riage  with  some  detested  man,  or  locked  up  to  for 
get  a  dream  which  was  half  realized  and  very  sweet, 
then  the  case  is  different.  If  she  breaks  her  bonds, 
and  flies  to  the  only  loving  heart  she  knows,  forgive 
her,  and  pray  Heaven  to  have  mercy  on  her,  for 
she  takes  a  fearful  leap  into  the  dark. 

Hedwig  felt  the  keys,  and  took  them  from  her 
dress,  and  pressed  them  to  her  cheek,  and  her  mind 
was  made  up.  She  glanced  at  the  small  gilt  clock, 
and  saw  that  the  hands  pointed  to  seven.  Five 
hours  were  before  her  in  which  to  make  her  prep 
arations,  such  as  they  could  be. 

In  accordance  with  her  father's  orders,  given 
when  he  left  her,  Temistocle  served  her  dinner  in 
her  sitting-room  ;  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  night's 
enterprise  demanded  that  she  should  eat  something, 
lest  her  strength  should  fail  at  the  critical  moment. 
Temistocle  volunteered  the  information  that  her 
father  had  gone  to  the  baron's  apartment,  and  had 
not  been  seen  since.  She  heard  in  silence,  and 
bade  the  servant  leave  her  as  soon  as  he  had  minis 
tered  to  her  wants.  Then  she  wrote  a  short  letter 
to  her  father,  telling  him  that  she  had  left  him, 
since  he  had  no  place  for  her  in  his  heart,  and  that 
she  had  gone  to  the  one  man  who  seemed  ready 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  311 

both  to  love  and  to  protect  her.  This  missive  she 
folded,  sealed,  and  laid  in  a  prominent  place  upon 
the  table,  addressed  to  the  count. 

She  made  a  small  bundle,  —  very  neatly,  for  she 
is  clever  with  her  fingers,  —  and  put  on  a  dark 
traveling  dress,  in  the  folds  of  which  she  sewed 
such  jewels  as  were  small  and  valuable  and  her 
own.  She  would  take  nothing  that  her  father  had 
given  her.  In  all  this  she  displayed  perfect  cool 
ness  and  foresight. 

The  castle  became  intensely  quiet  as  the  evening 
advanced.  She  sat  watching  the  clock.  At  five 
minutes  before  midnight  she  took  her  bundle  and 
her  little  shoes  in  her  hand,  blew  out  her  candle, 
and  softly  left  the  room. 


XX. 

I  NEED  not  tell  you  how  I  passed  all  the  time 
from  Nino's  leaving  me  until  he  came  back  in  the 
evening,  just  as  I  could  see  from  my  window  that 
the  full  moon  was  touching  the  tower  of  the  castle. 
I  sat  looking  out,  expecting  him,  and  I  was  the 
most  anxious  professor  that  ever  found  himself  in 
a  ridiculous  position.  Temistocle  had  come,  and 
you  know  what  had  passed  between  us,  and  how  we 
had  arranged  the  plan  of  the  night.  Most  heartily 
did  I  wish  myself  in  the  little  amphitheatre  of  my 
lecture-room  at  the  University,  instead  of  being 
pledged  to  this  wild  plot  of  my  boy's  invention. 
But  there  was  no  drawing  back.  I  had  been  my 
self  to  the  little  stable  next  door,  where  I  had  kept 
my  donkey,  and  visited  him  daily  since  my  arrival, 
and  I  had  made  sure  that  I  could  have  him  at  a 
moment's  notice  by  putting  on  the  cumbrous  saddle. 
Moreover,  I  had  secretly  made  a  bundle  of  my  ef 
fects,  and  had  succeeded  in  taking  it  unobserved  to 
the  stall,  and  I  tied  it  to  the  pommel.  I  also  told 
my  landlady  that  I  was  going  away  in  the  morn 
ing,  with  the  young  gentleman  who  had  visited  me, 
and  who,  I  said,  was  the  engineer  who  was  going 
to  make  a  new  road  to  the  Serra.  This  was  not 
quite  true ;  but  lies  that  hurt  no  one  are  not  lies  at 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  313 

all,  as  you  all  know,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  old 
woman  was  satisfied.  I  also  paid  for  my  lodging, 
and  gave  her  a  franc  for  herself,  which  pleased  her 
very  much.  I  meant  to  steal  away  about  ten  o'clock, 
or  as  soon  as  I  had  seen  Nino  and  communicated 
to  him  the  result  of  my  interview  with  Temistocle. 

The  hours  seemed  endless,  in  spite  of  my  prep 
arations,  which  occupied  some  time  ;  so  I  went 
out  when  I  had  eaten  my  supper,  and  visited  my 
ass,  and  gave  him  a  little  bread  that  was  left, 
thinking  it  would  strengthen  him  for  the  journey. 
Then  I  came  back  to  my  room,  and  watched.  Just 
as  the  moonlight  was  shooting  over  the  hill,  Nino 
rode  up  the  street.  I  knew  him  in  the  dusk  by  his 
broad  hat,  and  also  because  he  was  humming  a 
little  tune  through  his  nose,  as  he  generally  does. 
But  he  rode  past  my  door  without  looking  up,  for 
he  meant  to  put  his  mule  in  the  stable  for  a  rest. 

At  last  he  came  in,  still  humming,  and  apolo 
gized  for  the  delay,  saying  he  had  stopped  a  few 
minutes  at  the  inn  to  get  some  supper.  It  could 
not  have  been  a  very  substantial  meal  that  he  ate, 
in  that  short  time. 

"  What  did  the  man  say  ?  "  was  his  first  ques 
tion,  as  he  sat  down. 

"  He  said  it  should  be  managed  as  I  desired," 
I  answered.  "  Of  course  I  did  not  mention  you. 
Temistocle  —  that  is  his  name  —  will  come  at  mid 
night,  and  take  you  to  the  door.  There  you  will  find 
this  inamorata,  this  lady-love  of  yours,  for  whom 
you  are  about  to  turn  the  world  upside  down."  . 


314  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"What  will  you  do  yourself,  Sor  Cornelio?" 
he  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  will  go  now  and  get  my  donkey,  and  quietly 
ride  up  the  valley  to  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio," 
I  said.  "  I  am  sure  that  the  signorina  will  be  more 
at  her  ease  if  I  accompany  you.  I  am  a  very  proper 
person,  you  see." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nino  pensively,  "  you  are  very 
proper.  And  besides,  you  can  be  a  witness  of  the 
civil  marriage." 

"  Diavolo  !  "  I  cried,  "  a  marriage  !  I  had  not 
thought  of  that." 

"  Blood  of  a  dog  ! "  exclaimed  Nino,  "  what  on 
earth  did  you  think  of  ?  "  lie  was  angry  all  in  a 
moment. 

"  Piano,  —  do  not  disquiet  yourself,  my  boy.  I 
had  not  realized  that  the  wedding  was  so  near,  — 
that  is  all.  Of  course  you  will  be  married  in  Rome, 
as  soon  as  ever  we  get  there." 

"  We  shall  be  married  in  Ceprano  to-morrow 
night,  by  the  Sindaco,  or  the  mayor,  or  whatever 
civil  bishop  they  support  in  that  God-forsaken  Nea 
politan  town,"  said  Nino,  with  great  determination. 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  manage  it  as  you  like.  Only 
be  careful  that  it  is  properly  done,  and  have  it  reg 
istered,"  I  added.  "  Meanwhile,  I  will  start." 

"  You  need  not  go  yet,  caro  mio  ;  it  is  not  nine 
o'clock." 

"  How  far  do  you  think  I  ought  to  go,  Nino  ?  " 
I  inquired.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  idea  of  going  up 
the  Serra  alone  was  not  so  attractive  in  the  even- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  315 

ing  as  it  had  been  in  the  morning  light.  I  thought 
it  would  be  very  dark  among  those  trees,  and  I  had 
still  a  great  deal  of  money  sewn  between  my  waist 
coats. 

"'Oh,  you  need  not  go  so  very  far,"  said  Nino. 
"  Three  or  four  miles  from  the  town  will  be  enough. 
I  will  wait  in  the  street  below,  after  eleven." 

We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time  afterwards,  and 
if  I  was  thinking  of  the  gloomy  ride  before  me,  I 
am  sure  that  Nino  was  thinking  of  Hedwig.  Poor 
fellow !  I  dare  say  he  was  anxious  enough  to  see 
her,  after  being  away  for  two  months,  and  spend 
ing  so  many  hours  almost  within  her  reach.  He 
sat  low  in  his  chair,  and  the  dismal  rays  of  the 
solitary  tallow  candle  cast  deep  shadows  on  his 
thoughtful  face.  Weary,  perhaps,  with  waiting  and 
with  long  travel,  yet  not  sad,  but  very  hopeful,  he 
looked.  No  fatigue  could  destroy  the  strong,  manly 
expression  of  his  features,  and  even  in  that  squalid 
room,  by  the  miserable  light,  dressed  in  his  plain 
gray  clothes,  he  was  still  the  man  of  success,  who 
could  hold  thousands  in  the  suspense  of  listening  to 
his  slightest  utterance.  Nino  is  a  wonderful  man, 
and  I  am  convinced  that  there  is  more  in  him  than 
music,  which  is  well  enough  when  one  can  be  as 
great  as  he,  but  is  not  all  the  world  holds.  I  am 
sure  that  massive  head  of  his  was  not  hammered  so 
square  and  broad,  by  the  great  hands  that  forge 
the  thunderbolts  of  nations,  merely  that  he  should 
be  a  tenor  and  an  actor,  and  give  pleasure  to  his 
fellow-men.  I  see  there  the  power  and  the  strength 


316  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

of  a  broader  mastery  than  that  which  bends  the 
ears  of  a  theatre  audience.  One  day  we  may  see 
it.  It  needs  the  fire  of  hot  times  to  fuse  the  ele 
ments  of  greatness  in  the  crucible  of  revolution. 
There  is  not  such  another  head  in  all  Italy  as 
Nino's  that  I  ever  have  seen,  and  I  have  seen  the 
best  in  Rome.  He  looked  so  grand,  as  he  sat  there, 
thinking  over  the  future.  I  am  not  praising  his 
face  for  its  beauty ;  there  is  little  enough  of  that, 
as  women  might  judge.  And  besides,  you  will 
laugh  at  my  ravings,  and  say  that  a  singer  is  a 
singer,  and  nothing  more,  for  all  his  life.  Well, 
we  shall  see  in  twenty  years ;  you  will,  —  perhaps 
I  shall  not. 

"Nino,"  I  asked  irrelevantly,  following  my  own 
train  of  reflection,  "  have  you  ever  thought  of  any 
thing  but  music  —  and  love  ?  "  He  roused  himself 
from  his  reverie,  and  stared  at  me. 

"  How  should  you  be  able  to  guess  my  thoughts  ?  " 
he  asked  at  last. 

"People  who  have  lived  much  together  often 
read  each  other's  minds.  What  were  you  thinking 
of?"  Nino  sighed,  and  hesitated  a  moment  before 
he  answered. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  "  that  a  musician's 
destiny,  even  the  highest,  is  a  poor  return  for  a 
woman's  love." 

"  You  see :  I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  wonder 
ing  whether,  after  all,  you  will  always  be  a  singer." 

"That  is  singular,"  he  answered  slowly.  "I 
was  reflecting  how  utterly  small  my  success  on  the 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  317 

stage  will  look  to  me  when  I  have  married  Hedwig 
von  Lira." 

"  There  is  a  larger  stage,  Nino  mio,  than  yours." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  he,  and  fell  back  in  his  chair 
again,  dreaming. 

I  fancy  that  at  any  other  time  we  might  have 
fallen  into  conversation  and  speculated  on  the  good 
old-fashioned  simile  which  likens  life  to  a  comedy, 
or  a  tragedy,  or  a  farce.  But  the  moment  was  ill 
chosen,  and  we  were  both  silent,  being  much  pre 
occupied  with  the  immediate  future. 

A  little  before  ten  I  made  up  my  mind  to  start. 
I  glanced  once  more  round  the  room  to  see  if  I  had 
left  anything.  Nino  was  still  sitting  in  his  chair, 
his  head  bent,  and  his  eyes  staring  at  the  floor. 

"  Nino,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  now.  Here  is  an 
other  candle,  which  you  will  need  before  long,  for 
these  tallow  things  are  very  short."  Indeed,  the 
one  that  burned  was  already  guttering  low  in  the 
old  brass  candlestick.  Nino  rose  and  shook  him 
self. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said,  taking  me  by  both 
hands,  "you  know  that  I  am  grateful  to  you.  I 
thank  you,  and  thank  you  again,  with  all  my  heart. 
Yes,  you  ought  to  go  now,  for  the  time  is  approach 
ing.  We  shall  join  you,  if  all  goes  well,  by  one 
o'clock." 

"  But,  Nino,  if  you  do  not  come  ?  " 

"  I  will  come,  alone,  or  with  her.  If  —  if  I 
should  not  be  with  you  by  two  in  the  morning,  go 
on  alone,  and  get  out  of  the  way.  It  will  be  be- 


318  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

cause  I  am  caught  by  that  old  Prussian  devil. 
Good-by."  He  embraced  me  affectionately,  and  I 
went  out.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  was  out  of 
the  town,  picking  my  way,  with  my  little  donkey, 
over  the  desolate  path  that  leads  toward  the  black 
Serra.  The  clatter  of  the  beast's  hoofs  over  the 
stones  kept  time  with  the  beatings  of  my  heart,  and 
I  pressed  my  thin  legs  close  to  his  thinner  sides  for 
company. 

When  Nino  was  left  alone,  —  and  all  this  I  know 
from  him,  —  he  sat  again  in  the  chair,  and  medi 
tated  ;  and  although  the  time  of  the  greatest  event 
in  his  life  was  very  near,  he  was  so  much  absorbed 
that  hq  was  startled  when  he  looked  at  his  watch 
and  found  that  it  was  half  past  eleven.  He  had 
barely  time  to  make  his  preparations.  His  man 
was  warned,  but  was  waiting  near  the  inn,  not 
knowing  whe're  he  was  required,  as  Nino  himself 
had  not  been  to  ascertain  the  position  of  the  lower 
door,  fearing  lest  he  might  be  seen  by  Benoni.  He 
now  hastily  extinguished  the  light,  and  let  himself 
out  of  the  house  without  noise.  He  found  his  coun 
tryman  ready  with  the  mules,  ordered  him  to  come 
with  him,  and  returned  to  the  house,  instructing 
him  to  follow  and  wait  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  door  he  would  enter.  Muffled  in  his  cloak,  he 
stood  in  the  street,  awaiting  the  messenger  from 
Hedwig. 

The  crazy  old  clock  of  the  church  tolled  the  hour, 
and  a  man  wrapped  in  a  nondescript  garment,  be 
tween  a  cloak  and  an  overcoat,  stole  along  the 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  319 

moonlit  street  to  where  Nino  stood,  in  front  of  my 
lodging. 

"  Temistocle ! "  called  Nino,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
the  fellow  hesitated. 

"Excellency"  —  answered  the  man,  and  then 
drew  back.  "  You  are  not  the  Signor  Grandi !  " 
he  cried,  in  alarm. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  replied  Nino.  "  Let  us 
go." 

"  But  how  is  this  ?  "  objected  Temistocle,  seeing 
a  new  development.  "It  was  the  Signor  Grandi 
whom  I  was  to  conduct."  Nino  was  silent,  but 
there  was  a  crisp  sound  in  the  air  as  he  took  a 
bank-note  from  his  pocket-book.  "  Diavolo !  "  mut 
tered  the  servant,  "  perhaps  it  may  be  right,  after 
all."  Nino  gave  him  the  note. 

"  That  is  my  passport,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  doubts,"  answered  Temistocle,  taking 
it,  nevertheless,  and  examining  it  by  the  moonlight. 
"It  has  no  visa"  he  added,  with  a  cunning  leer. 
Nino  gave  him  another.  Then  Temistocle  had  no 
more  doubts. 

"  I  will  conduct  your  excellency,"  he  said.  They 
moved  away,  and  Temistocle  was  so  deaf  that  he 
did  not  hear  the  mules  and  the  tramp  of  the  man 
who  led  them,  not  ten  paces  behind  him. 

Passing  round  the  rock,  they  found  themselves 
in  the  shadow ;  a  fact  which  Nino  noted  with  much 
satisfaction,  for  he  feared  lest  some  one  might  be 
keeping  late  hours  in  the  castle.  The  mere  noise 
of  the  mules  would  attract  no  attention  in  a  moun- 


320  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

tain  town,  where  the  country  people  start  for  their 
distant  work  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 
They  came  to  the  door.  Nino  called  softly  to  the 
man  with  the  mules  to  wait  in  the  shadow,  and 
Temistocle  knocked  at  the  door.  The  key  ground 
in  the  lock  from  within,  but  the  hands  that  held  it 
seemed  weak.  Nino's  heart  beat  fast. 

"  Temistocle  !  "  called  Hedwig's  trembling  voice. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  your  excellency  ?  "  asked 
the  servant  through  the  keyhole,  not  forgetting  his 
manners. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  turn  the  key !  "What  shall  I 
do?" 

Nino  heard  and  pushed  the  servant  aside. 

"  Courage,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  aloud,  that 
she  might  know  his  voice.  Hedwig  appeared  to 
make  a  frantic  effort,  and  a  little  sound  of  pain  es 
caped  her  as  she  hurt  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  "  she  cried  piteously.  "  I 
locked  it  last  night,  and  now  I  cannot  turn  the 
key!" 

Nino  pressed  with  all  his  weight  against  the 
door.  Fortunately  it  was  strong,  or  he  would  have 
broken  it  in,  and  it  would  have  fallen  upon  her. 
But  it  opened  outward  and  was  heavily  bound  with 
iron.  Nino  groaned. 

"  Has  your  excellency  a  taper  ?  "  asked  Temisto 
cle  suddenly,  forcing  his  head  between  Nino's  body 
and  the  door,  in  order  to  be  heard. 

"  Yes.     I  put  it  out." 

"And  matches?  "  he  asked  again. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  321 

"Yes." 

"  Then  let  your  excellency  light  the  taper,  and 
drop  some  of  the  burning1  wax  on  the  end  of  the 
key.  It  will  be  like  oil."  There  was  a  silence. 
The  key  was  withdrawn,  and  a  light  appeared 
through  the  hole  where  it  had  been.  Nino  instantly 
fastened  his  eye  to  the  aperture,  hoping  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Hedwig.  But  he  could  not  see  any 
thing  save  two  white  hands  trying  to  cover  the  key 
with  wax.  He  withdrew  his  eye  quickly,  as  the 
hands  pushed  the  key  through  again. 

Again  the  lock  groaned,  —  a  little  sob  of  effort, 
another  trial,  and  the  bolts  flew  back  to  their  sock 
ets.  The  prudent  Temistocle,  who  did  not  wish  to 
be  a  witness  of  what  followed,  pretended  to  exert 
gigantic  strength  in  pulling  the  door  open,  and 
Nino,  seeing  him,  drew  back  a  moment,  to  let  him 
pass. 

"  Your  excellency  need  only  knock  at  the  upper 
door,"  he  said  to  Hedwig,  "  and  I  will  open.  I  will 
watch,  lest  any  one  should  enter  from  above." 

"You  may  watch  till  the  rising  of  the  dead," 
thought  Nino,  and  Hedwig  stood  aside  on  the  nar 
row  step  while  Temistocle  went  up.  One  instant 
more,  and  Nino  was  at  her  feet,  kissing  the  hem 
of  her  dress,  and  speechless  with  happiness,  for  his 
tears  of  joy  flowed  fast. 

Tenderly  Hedwig  bent  to  him,  and  laid  her  two 
hands  on  his  bare  head,  pressing  down  the  thick 
and  curly  hair  with  a  trembling,  passionate  mo 
tion. 

21 


322  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Signer  Cardegna,  you  must  not  kneel  there,  — 
nay,  sir,  I  know  you  love  me  !  Would  I  have 
come  to  you  else  ?  Give  me  your  hand  —  now  — 
do  not  kiss  it  so  hard  —  no  —  Oh,  Nino,  my  own 
dear  Nino  " — 

What  should  have  followed  in  her  gentle  speech 
is  lacking,  for  many  and  most  sweet  reasons.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  the  taper  was  extinguished, 
and  they  stood  locked  in  each  other's  arms  against 
the  open  door,  with  only  the  reflection  of  the  moon 
from  the  houses  opposite  to  illuminate  their  meet 
ing- 
There  was  and  is  to  me  something  divinely  per 
fect  and  godlike  in  these  two  virgin  hearts,  each  so 
new  to  their  love,  and  each  so  true  and  spotless  of 
all  other.  I  am  old  to  say  sweet  things  of  loving. 
But  I  cannot  help  it ;  for  though  I  never  was  as 
they  are,  I  have  loved  much  in  my  time.  Like  our 
own  dear  Leopardi,  I  loved  not  the  woman,  but  the 
angel  which  is  the  type  of  all  women,  and  whom 
not  finding  I  perished  miserably  as  to  my  heart. 
But  in  my  breast  there  is  still  the  temple  where  the 
angel  dwelt,  and  the  shrine  is  very  fragrant  still 
with  the  divine  scent  of  the  heavenly  roses  that 
were  about  her.  I  think,  also,  that  all  those  who 
love  in  this  world  must  have  such  a  holy  place  of 
worship  in  their  hearts.  Sometimes  the  kingdom  of 
the  soul  and  the  palace  of  the  body  are  all  Love's,1 
made  beautiful  and  rich  with  rare  offerings  of  great 
constancy  and  faith ;  and  all  the  countless  creations 
of  transcendent  genius,  and  all  the  vast  aspirations 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  323 

of  far-reaching  power,  go  up  in  reverent  order  to  do 
homage  at  Love's  altar,  before  they  come  forth,  like 
giants,  to  make  the  great  world  tremble  and  reel  in 
its  giddy  grooves. 

And  with  another  it  is  different.  The  world  is 
not  his  ;  he  is  the  world's,  and  all  his  petty  doings 
have  its  gaudy  stencil  blotched  upon  them.  Yet 
haply  even  he  has  a  heart,  and  somewhere  in  its 
fruitless  fallows  stands  a  poor  ruin,  that  never  was 
of  much  dignity  at  its  best,  —  poor  and  broken,  and 
half  choked  with  weeds  and  briers ;  but  even  thus 
the  weeds  are  fragrant  herbs,  and  the  briers  are 
wild  roses,  of  few  and  misshapen  petals,  but  sweet 
nevertheless.  For  this  ruin  was  once  a  shrine,  too, 
that  his  mean  hands  and  sterile  soul  did  try  most 
ineffectually  to  build  up  as  a  shelter  for  all  that 
was  ever  worthy  in  him. 

Now,  therefore,  I  say,  Love,  and  love  truly  and 
long,  —  even  forever ;  and  if  you  can  do  other 
things  well,  do  them ;  but  if  not,  at  least  learn  to  do 
that,  for  it  is  a  very  gentle  thing,  and  sweet  in  the 
learning.  Some  of  you  laugh  at  me,  and  say,  Be 
hold  this  old-fashioned  driveler,  who  does  not  even 
know  that  love  is  no  longer  in  the  fashion !  By 
Saint  Peter,  Heaven  will  soon  be  out  of  the  fashion, 
too,  and  Messer  Satanas  will  rake  in  the  just  and 
the  unjust  alike,  so  that  he  need  110  longer  fast  on 
Fridays,  having  a  more  savory  larder!  And  no 
doubt  some  of  you  will  say  that  hell  is  really  so  anti 
quated  that  it  should  be  put  in  the  museum  at  the 
University  of  Rome,  for  a  curious  old  piece  of  theo- 


324  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

logical  furniture.  Truth  !  it  is  a  wonder  it  is  not 
worn  out  with  digesting  the  tough  morsels  it  gets, 
when  people  like  you  are  finally  gotten  rid  of  from 
this  world  !  But  it  is  made  of  good  material,  and 
will  last,  never  fear !  This  is  not  the  gospel  of 
peace,  but  it  is  the  gospel  of  truth. 

Loving  hearts  and  gentle  souls  shall  rule  the 
world  some  day,  for  all  your  pestiferous  fashions ; 
and  old  as  I  am,  — I  do  not  mean  aged,  but  well  on 
in  years,  —  I  believe  in  love  still,  and  I  always  will. 
It  is  true  it  was  not  given  to  me  to  love  as  Nino 
loves  Hedwig,  for  Nino  is  even  now  a  stronger, 
sterner  man  than  I.  His  is  the  nature  that  can 
never  do  enough  ;  his  the  hands  that  never  tire  for 
her ;  his  the  art  that  would  surpass,  for  her,  the 
stubborn  bounds  of  possibility.  He  is  never  weary 
of  striving  to  increase  her  joy  of  him.  His  philos 
ophy  is  but  that.  No  quibbles  of  "  being  "  and 
"  not  being  "  or  wretched  speculations  concerning 
the  object  of  existence ;  he  has  found  the  true  uni 
ty  of  unities,  and  he  holds  it  fast. 

Meanwhile,  you  object  that  I  am  not  proceeding 
with  my  task,  and  telling  you  more  facts,  recounting 
more  conversations,  and  painting  more  descriptions 
Believe  me,  this  one  fact,  that  to  love  well  is  to  be 
all  man  can  be,  is  greater  than  all  the  things  men 
have  ever  learned  and  classified  in  the  dictionaries. 
It  is,  moreover,  the  only  fact  that  has  consistently 
withstood  the  ravages  of  time  and  social  revolu 
tion  ;  it  is  the  wisdom  that  has  opened,  as  by 
magic,  the  treasures  of  genius,  of  goodness,  and  of 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  325 

all  greatness,  for  every  one  to  see  ;  it  is  the  vital 
elixir  that  has  made  men  of  striplings,  and  giants 
of  cripples,  and  heroes  of  the  poor  in  heart  though 
great  in  spirit.  Nino  is  an  example  :  for  he  was 
but  a  boy,  yet  he  acted  like  a  man  ;  a  gifted  artist 
in  a  great  city,  courted  by  the  noblest,  yet  he  kept 
his  faith. 

But  when  I  have  taken  breath  I  will  tell  you 
what  he  and  Hedwig  said  to  each  other  at  the  gate, 
and  whether  at  the  last  she  went  with  him,  or 
stayed  in  dismal  Fillettino  for  her  father's  sake. 


XXI. 

"  LET  us  sit  upon  the  step  and  talk,"  said  Hed- 
wig,  gently  disengaging  herself  from  his  arms. 

"  The  hour  is  advancing,  and  it  is  damp  here, 
my  love.  You  will  be  cold,"  said  Nino,  protesting 
against  delay  as  best  he  could. 

"  No ;  and  I  must  talk  to  you."  She  sat  down, 
but  Nino  pulled  off  his  cloak  and  threw  it  round 
her.  She  motioned  him  to  sit  beside  her,  and  raised 
the  edge  of  the  heavy  mantle  with  her  hand.  "  I 
think  it  is  big  enough,"  said  she. 

"  I  think  so,"  returned  Nino  ;  and  so  the  pair  sat 
side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand,  wrapped  in  the 
same  garment,  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  rocky 
door-way.  "You  got  my  letter,  dearest?"  asked 
Nino,  hoping  to  remind  her  of  his  proposal. 

"Yes,  it  reached  me  safely.  Tell  me,  Nino, 
have  you  thought  of  me  in  all  this  time  ?  "-  she 
asked,  in  her  turn ;  and  there  was  the  joy  of  the 
answer  already  in  the  question. 

"  As  the  earth  longs  for  the  sun,  my  love,  through 
all  the  dark  night.  You  have  never  been  out  of  my 
thoughts.  You  know  that  I  went  away  to  find  you 
in  Paris,  and  I  went  to  London,  -too ;  and  every 
where  I  sang  to  you,  hoping  you  might  be  some 
where  in  the  great  audiences.  But  you  never  went 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  327 

to  Paris  at  all.  When  I  got  Professor  Grandi's 
letter  saying  that  he  had  discovered  you,  I  had  but 
one  night  more  to  sing,  and  then  I  flew  to  you." 

"And  now  you  have  found  me,"  said  Hedwig, 
looking  lovingly  up  to  him  through  the  shadow. 

"  Yes,  dear  one ;  and  I  have  come  just  in  time. 
You  are  in  great  trouble  now,  and  I  am  here  to  save 
you  from  it  all.  Tell  me,  what  is  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Nino  dear,  it  is  very  terrible.  My  father 
declared  I  must  marry  Baron  Benoni,  or  end  my 
days  here,  in  this  dismal  castle."  Nino  ground  his 
teeth,  and  drew  her  even  closer  to  him,  so  that  her 
head  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Infamous  wretch !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Hush,  Nino,"  said  Hedwig  gently  ;  "  he  is  my 
father." 

"  Oh,  I  mean  Benoni,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Nino 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  dear,  of  course  you  do,"  Hedwig  responded. 
"But  my  father  has  changed  his  mind.  He  no 
longer  wishes  me  to  marry  the  Jew." 

"  Why  is  that,  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Because  Benoni  was  very  rude  to  me  to-day, 
and  I  told  my  father,  who  said  he  should  leave  the 
house  at  once." 

"  I  hope  he  will  kill  the  hound! "  cried  Nino,  with 
rising  anger.  "And  I  am  glad  your  father  has  still 
the  decency  to  protect  you  from  insult." 

"  My  father  is  very  unkind,  Nino  mio,  but  he  is 
an  officer  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  that  means,  —  a  gentleman  I 


328  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

Fie  on  your  gentlemen !  Do  you  love  me  less,  Hed 
wig,  because  I  am  of  the  people  ?  " 

For  all  answer  Hedwig  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  passionately. 

"  Tell  me,  love,  would  you  think  better  of  me  if 
I  were  noble  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Nino,  how  most  unkind  !  Oh,  no  :  I  love 
you,  and  for  your  sake  I  love  the  people,  —  the 
strong,  brave  people,  whose  man  you  are." 

"  God  bless  you,  dear,  for  that,"  he  answered  ten. 
derly.  "  But  say,  will  your  father  take  you  back 
to  Rome,  now  that  he  has  sent  away  Benoni  ?  " 

"  No,  he  will  not.  He  swears  that  I  shall  stay 
here  until  I  can  forget  you."  The  fair  head  rested 
again  on  his  shoulder. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  your  most  high  and  noble 
father  has  amazingly  done  perjury  in  his  oath,"  re 
marked  Nino,  resting  his  hand  on  her  hair,  from 
which  the  thick  black  veil  that  had  muffled  it  had 
slipped  back.  "  What  do  you  think,  love  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Hedwig,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why,  dear,  you  have  only  to  close  this  door  be 
hind  you,  and  you  may  laugh  at  your  prison  and 
your  jailer ! " 

"  Oh,  I  could  not,  Nino ;  and  besides,  I  am  weak, 
and  cannot  walk  very  far.  And  we  should  have  to 
walk  very  far,  you  know." 

"  You,  darling  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  not  and 
could  not  bear  you  from  here  to  Rome  in  these 
arms  ?  "  As  he  spoke  he  lifted  her  bodily  from  the 
step. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  329 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  half  frightened,  half  thrilled, 
"how  strong  you  are,  Nino  !  " 

"  Not  I ;  it  is  my  love.  But  I  have  beasts  close 
by,  waiting  even  now ;  good  stout  mules,  that  will 
think  you  are  only  a  little  silver  butterfly  that  has 
flitted  down  from  the  moon  for  them  to  carry." 

"  Have  you  done  that,  dear  ?  "  she  asked  doubt 
fully,  while  her  heart  leaped  at  the  thought.  "  But 
my  father  has  horses,"  she  added,  on  a  sudden,  in  a 
very  anxious  voice. 

"  Never  fear,  my  darling.  No  horse  could  scratch 
a  foothold  in  the  place  where  our  mules  are  as  safe 
as  in  a  meadow.  Come,  dear  heart,  let  us  be  go 
ing."  But  Hedwig  hung  her  head,  and  did  not  stir. 
"  What  is  it,  Hedwig?  "  he  asked,  bending  down  to 
her  and  softly  stroking  her  hair.  "  Are  you  afraid 
of  me?" 

"  No,  —  oh,  no  !  Not  of  you,  Nino,  —  never  of 
you !  "  She  pushed  her  face  close  against  him, 
very  lovingly. 

"  What  then,  dear  ?  Everything  is  ready  for  us. 
Why  should  we  wait  ?  " 

"  Is  it  quite  right,  Nino  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  love,  it  is  right,  —  the  Tightest  right 
that  ever  was !  How  can  such  love  as  ours  be 
wrong  ?  Have  I  not  to-day  implored  your  father  to 
relent  and  let  us  marry  ?  I  met  him  in  the  road  " — 

"  He  told  me,  dear.  It  was  brave  of  you.  And 
he  frightened  me  by  making  me  think  he  had  killed 
you.  Oh,  I  was  so  frightened,  you  do  not  know !  " 

"  Cruel "  —    Nino   checked  the   rising  epithet. 


330  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  He  is  your  father,  dear,  and  I  must  not  speak  my 
mind.  But  since  he  will  not  let  you  go,  what  will 
you  do  ?  Will  you  cease  to  love  me,  at  his  orders  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Nino,  never,  never,  never !  " 

"  But  will  you  stay  here,  to  die  of  solitude  and 
slow  torture?  "  he  pleaded  passionately. 

"I  —  I  suppose  so,  Nino,"  she  said,  in  a  choking 
sob. 

"  Now,  by  Heaven,  you  shall  not !  "  He  clasped 
her  in  his  arms,  raising  her  suddenly  to  her  feet. 
Her  head  fell  back  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  could 
see  her  turn  pale  to  the  very  lips,  for  his  sight  was 
softened  to  the  gloom,  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars 
of  fire  at  him  from  beneath  the  half-closed  lids. 
But  the  faint  glory  of  coming  happiness  was  already 
on  her  face,  and  he  knew  that  the  last  fight  was 
fought  for  love's  mastery. 

"  Shall  we  ever  part  again,  love  ?  "  he  whispered, 
close  to  her.  She  shook  her  head,  her  starry  eyes 
still  fastened  on  his. 

"  Then  come,  my  own  dear  one,  —  come,"  and  he 
gently  drew  her  with  him.  He  glanced,  naturally 
enough,  at  the  step  where  they  had  sat,  and  some 
thing  dark  caught  his  eye  just  above  it.  Holding 
her  hand  in  one  of  his,  as  though  fearful  lest  she 
should  escape  him,  he  stooped  quickly  and  snatched 
the  thing  from  the  stair  with  the  other.  It  was 
Hedwig's  little  bundle. 

"What  have  you  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Oh,  Hed- 
wig,  you  said  you  would  not  come !  "  he  added,  half 
laughing,  as  he  discovered  what  it  was. 


A    ROMAN  SINGER.  331 

"  I  was  not  sure  that  I  should  like  you,  Nino," 
she  said,  as  he  again  put  his  arm  about  her.  Hed 
wig  started  violently.  "What  is  that?"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

"What,  love?" 

"  The  noise  !  Oh,  Nino,  there  is  some  one  on 
the  staircase,  coming  down.  Quick,  —  quick ! 
Save  me,  for  love's  sake  !  " 

But  Nino  had  heard,  too,  the  clumsy  but  rapid 
groping  of  heavy  feet  on  the  stairs  above,  far  up 
in  the  winding  stone  steps,  but  momentarily  coming 
nearer.  Instantly  he  pushed  Hedwig  out  to  the 
street,  tossing  the  bundle  on  the  ground,  withdrew 
the  heavy  key,  shut  the  door,  and  double-turned 
the  lock  from  the  outside,  removing  the  key  again 
at  once.  Nino  is  a  man  who  acts  suddenly  and 
infallibly  in  great  emergencies.  He  took  Hedwig 
in  his  arms,  and  ran  with  her  to  where  the  mules 
were  standing,  twenty  yards  away. 

The  stout  countryman  from  Subiaco,  who  had 
spent  some  years  in  breaking  stones  out  of  con 
sideration  for  the  government,  as  a  general  con 
fession  of  the  inaccuracy  of  his  views  regarding 
foreigners,  was  by  no  means  astonished  when  he 
saw  Nino  appear  with  a  woman  in  his  arms. 
Together  they  seated  her  on  one  of  the  mules, 
and  ran  beside  her,  for  there  was  no  time  for  Nino 
to  mount.  They  had  to  pass  the  door,  and  through 
all  its  oaken  thickness  they  could  hear  the  curses 
and  imprecations  of  some  one  inside,  and  the  wood 
and  iron  shook  with  repeated  blows  and  kicks.  The 


332  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

quick-witted  muleteer  saw  the  bundle  lying  where 
Nino  had  tossed  it,  and  he  picked  it  up  as  he  ran. 

Both  Nino  and  Hedwig  recognized  Benoni's 
voice,  but  neither  spoke  as  they  hurried  up  the 
street  into  the  bright  moonlight,  she  riding  and 
Nino  running  as  he  led  the  other  beast  at  a  sharp 
trot.  In  five  minutes  they  were  out  of  the  little 
town,  and  Nino,  looking  back,  could  see  that  the 
broad  white  way  behind  them  was  clear  of  all  pur 
suers.  Then  he  himself  mounted,  and  the  country 
man  trotted  by  his  side. 

Nino  brought  his  mule  close  to  Hedwig's.  She 
was  an  accomplished  horsewoman,  and  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  accommodating  herself  to  the  rough  coun 
try  saddle.  Their  hands  met,  and  the  mules,  long 
accustomed  to  each  other's  company,  moved  so 
evenly  that  the  gentle  bond  was  not  broken.  But 
although  Hedwig's  fingers  twined  lovingly  with 
his,  and  she  often  turned  and  looked  at  him  from 
beneath  her  hanging  veil,  she  was  silent  for  a  long 
time.  Nino  respected  her  mood,  half  guessing  what 
she  felt,  and  no  sound  was  heard  save  an  occasional 
grunt  from  the  countryman  as  he  urged  the  beasts, 
and  the  regular  clatter  of  the  hoofs  on  the  stony 
road. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Nino  was  overwhelmed  with 
anxiety;  for  his  quick  wits  had  told  him  that 
Benoni,  infuriated  by  the  check  he  had  received, 
would  lose  no  time  in  remounting  the  stairs,  sad 
dling  a  horse,  and  following  them.  If  only  they 
could  reach  the  steeper  part  of  the  ravine,  they 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  333 

could  bid  defiance  to  any  horse  that  ever  galloped, 
for  Benoni  must  inevitably  come  to  grief  if  he  at 
tempted  a  pursuit  into  the  desolate  Serra.  He  saw 
that  Hedwig  had  not  apprehended  the  danger,  when 
once  the  baron  was  stopped  by  the  door,  conceiving 
in  her  heart  the  impression  that  he  was  a  prisoner 
in  his  own  trap.  Nevertheless,  they  urged  the 
beasts  onward  hotly,  if  one  may  use  the  word  of  the 
long,  heavy  trot  of  a  mountain  mule.  The  sturdy 
countryman  never  paused  or  gasped  for  breath, 
keeping  pace  in  a  steady,  determined  fashion. 

But  they  need  not  have  been  disturbed,  for  Hed- 
wig's  guess  was  nearer  the  truth  than  Nino's  rea 
soning.  They  knew  it  later,  when  Temistocle  found 
them  in  Rome,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  how  it 
happened.  When  he  reached  the  head  of  the 
staircase,  he  took  the  key  from  the  one  side  to  the 
other,  locked  the  door,  as  agreed,  and  sat  down  to 
wait  for  Hedwig's  rap.  He  indeed  suspected  that 
it  would  never  come,  for  he  had  only  pretended 
not  to  see  the  mules  ;  but  the  prospect  of  further 
bribes  made  him  anxious  not  to  lose  sight  of  his 
mistress,  and  certainly  not  to  disobey  her,  in  case 
she  really  returned.  The  staircase  opened  into  the 
foot  of  the  tower,  a  broad  stone  chamber,  with  un- 
glazed  windows. 

Temistocle  sat  himself  down  to  wait  on  an  old 
bench  that  had  been  put  there,  and  the  light  of  the 
full  moon  made  the  place  as  bright  as  day.  Now 
the  lock  on  the  door  was  rusty,  like  the  one  below, 
and  creaked  loudly  every  time  it  was  turned.  But 


334  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Temistocle  fancied  it  would  not  be  heard  in  the 
great  building,  and  felt  quite  safe.  Sitting  there, 
he  nodded  and  fell  asleep,  tired  with  the  watching. 

Benoni  had  probably  passed  a  fiery  half  hour 
with  the  count.  But  I  have  no  means  of  knowing 
what  was  said  on  either  side ;  at  all  events,  he  was 
in  the  castle  still,  and,  what  is  more,  he  was  awake. 
When  Hedwig  opened  the  upper  door  and  closed  it 
behind  her,  the  sound  was  distinctly  audible  to  his 
quick  ears,  and  he  probably  listened  and  speculated, 
and  finally  yielded  to  his  curiosity. 

However  this  may  have  been,  he  found  Temis 
tocle  asleep  in  the  tower  basement,  saw  the  key  in 
the  lock,  guessed  whence  the  noise  had  come,  and 
turned  it.  The  movement  woke  Temistocle,  who 
started  to  his  feet,  and  recognized  the  tall  figure  of 
the  baron  just  entering  the  door.  Too  much  con 
fused  for  reflection,  he  called  aloud,  and  the  baron 
disappeared  down  the  stairs.  Temistocle  listened 
at  the  top,  heard  distinctly  the  shutting  and  locking 
of  the  lower  door,  and  a  moment  afterwards  Be- 
noni's  voice,  swearing  in  every  language  at  once, 
came  echoing  up. 

"  They  have  escaped,"  said  Temistocle  to  himself. 
"If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  had  better  do  the  same." 
With  that  he  locked  the  upper  door,  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  and  departed  on  tiptoe.  Having  his  hat 
and  his  overcoat  with  him,  and  his  money  in  his 
pocket,  he  determined  to  leave  the  baron  shut  up  in 
the  staircase.  He  softly  left  the  castle  by  the  front 
gate,  of  which  he  knew  the  tricks,  and  he  was  not 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  335 

heard  of  for  several  weeks  afterwards.  As  for  Be- 
noni,  he  was  completely  caught,  and  probably  spent 
the  remainder  of  the  night  in  trying  to  wake  the 
inmates  of  the  building.  So  you  see  that  Nino 
need  not  have  been  so  much  disturbed,  after  all. 

While  these  things  were  happening  Nino  and 
Hedwig  got  fairly  away,  and  no  one  but  a  moun 
taineer  of  the  district  could  possibly  have  overtaken 
them.  Just  as  they  reached  the  place  where  the 
valley  suddenly  narrows  to  a  gorge,  the  countryman 
spoke.  It  was  the  first  word  that  had  been  uttered 
by  any  of  the  party  in  an  hour,  so  great  had  been 
their  haste  and  anxiety. 

"  I  see  a  man  with  a  beast,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  Nino.  "  I  expect  to  meet 
a  friend  here."  Then  he  turned  to  Hedwig.  "  Dear 
one,"  he  said,  "  we  are  to  have  a  companion  now, 
who  says  he  is  a  very  proper  person." 

"  A  companion?  "  repeated  Hedwig,  anxiously. 

"  Yes.  We  are  to  have  the  society  of  no  less  a 
person  than  the  Professor  Cornelio  Grandi,  of  the 
University  of  Rome.  He  will  go  with  us,  and  be  a 
witness." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedwig,  expecting  more,  "  a  wit 
ness  "  — 

"  A  witness  of  our  marriage,  dear  lady ;  I  trust 
to-morrow,  —  or  to-day,  since  midnight  is  past." 
He  leaned  far  over  his  saddle-bow,  as  the  mules 
clambered  up  the  rough  place.  Her  hand  went  out 
to  him,  and  he  took  it.  They  were  so  near  that  I 
could  see  them.  He  dropped  the  reins  and  bared 


336  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

his  head,  and  so,  riding,  he  bent  himself  still  fur 
ther,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  hand ;  and  that 
was  all  the  marriage  contract  that  was  sealed  be 
tween  them.  But  it  was  enough. 

There  I  sat,  upon  a  stone  in  the  moonlight,  just 
below  the  trees,  waiting  for  them.  And  there  I  had 
been  for  two  mortal  hours  and  more,  left  to  medi 
tate  upon  the  follies  of  professors  in  general  and  of 
myself  in  particular.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder 
whether  Nino  would  come  at  all,  and  I  can  tell  you 
I  was  glad  to  see  the  little  caravan.  Ugh !  it  is  an 
ugly  place  to  be  alone  in  ! 

They  rode  up,  and  I  went  forward  to  meet 
them. 

"  Nino  mio,"  said  T,  "  you  have  made  me  pass  a 
terrible  time  here.  Thank  Heaven,  you  are  come ; 
and  the  contessina,  too !  Your  most  humble  ser 
vant,  signorina."  I  bowed  low  and  Hedwig  bent 
a  little  forward,  but  the  moon  was  just  behind  her, 
and  I  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  I  did  not  think  we  should  meet  so  soon,  Sig- 
nor  Grandi.  But  I  am  very  glad."  There  was  a 
sweet  shyness  in  the  little  speech  that  touched  me. 
I  am  sure  she  was  afraid  that  it  was  not  yet  quite 
right,  or  at  least  that  there  should  be  some  other 
lady  in  the  party. 

"  Courage,  Messer  Cornelio,"  said  Nino.  "  Mount 
your  donkey,  and  let  us  be  on  our  way." 

"  Is  not  the  contessina  tired  ?  "  I  inquired.  "  You 
might  surely  rest  a  little  here." 

"  Caro  mio,"  answered  Nino,  "  we  must  be  safe 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  337 

at  the  top  of  the  pass  before  we  rest.  We  were  so 
unfortunate  as  to  wake  his  excellency  the  Baron 
Benoni  out  of  some  sweet  dream  or  other,  and  per 
haps  he  is  not  far  behind  us." 

An  encounter  with  the  furious  Jew  was  not  pre 
cisely  attractive  to  me,  and  I  was  on  my  donkey  be 
fore  you  could  count  a  score.  I  suggested  to  Nino 
that  it  would  be  wiser  if  the  countryman  led  the 
way  through  the  woods,  and  I  followed  him.  Then 
the  contessina  would  be  behind  me,  and  Nino  would 
bring  up  the  rear.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the 
mules  might  outstrip  my  donkey,  if  I  went  last, 
and  so  I  might  be  left  to  face  the  attack,  if  any 
came  ;  whereas,  if  I  were  in  front,  the  others  could 
not  go  any  faster  than  I. 
22 


XXII. 

THE  gorge  rises  steep  and  precipitous  between 
the  lofty  mountains  on  both  sides,  and  it  is  fortu 
nate  that  we  had  some  light  from  the  moon,  which 
was  still  high  at  two  o'clock,  being  at  the  full. 

It  is  a  ghastly  place  enough.  In  the  days  of  the 
Papal  States  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio,  as  it  is 
called,  was  the  shortest  passage  to  the  kingdom  of 
Naples,  and  the  frontier  line  ran  across  its  summit. 
To  pass  from  one  dominion  to  the  other  it  would 
be  necessary  to  go  out  of  the  way  some  forty  or  fifty 
miles,  perhaps,  unless  one  took  this  route ;  and  the 
natural  consequence  was  that  outlaws,  smugglers, 
political  fugitives,  and  all  such  manner  of  men 
found  it  a  great  convenience.  Soldiers  were  sta 
tioned  in  Fillettino  and  on  the  other  side,  to  check 
illicit  traffic  and  brigandage,  and  many  were  the 
fights  that  were  fought  among  these  giant  beeches. 

The  trees  are  of  primeval  dimensions,  for  no  one 
has  yet  been  enterprising  enough  to  attempt  to  fell 
the  timber.  The  gorge  is  so  steep,  and  in  many 
places  so  abruptly  precipitous,  that  the  logs  could 
never  be  removed ;  and  so  they  have  grown  undis 
turbed  for  hundreds  of  years,  rotting  and  falling 
away  as  they  stand.  The  beech  is  a  lordly  tree, 
with  its  great  smooth  trunk  and  its  spreading 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  389 

branches,  and  though  it  never  reaches  the  size  of 
the  chestnut,  it  is  far  more  beautiful  and  long- 
lived. 

Here  and  there,  at  every  hundred  yards  or  so,  it 
seemed  to  me,  the  countryman  would  touch  his  hat 
and  cross  himself  as  he  clambered  up  the  rocky 
path,  and  then  I  did  likewise ;  for  there  was  always 
some  rude  cross  or  rough  attempt  at  the  inscription 
of  a  name  at  such  spots,  which  marked  where  a  man 
had  met  his  untimely  end.  Sometimes  the  moon 
beams  struggled  through  the  branches,  still  bare  of 
leaves,  and  fell  on  a  few  bold  initials  and  a  date ; 
and  sometimes  we  came  to  a  broad  ledge  where  no 
trees  were,  but  only  a  couple  of  black  sticks  tied  at 
right  angles  for  a  cross.  It  was  a  dismal  place,  and 
the  owls  hooted  at  us. 

Besides,  it  grew  intensely  cold  towards  morning, 
so  that  the  countryman  wanted  to  stop  and  make  a 
fire  to  warm  ourselves.  Though  it  was  the  end  of 
March,  the  ground  was  frozen  as  hard  as  any  stone 
wherever  it  was  free  from  rocks.  But  Nino  dis 
mounted,  and  insisted  upon  wrapping  his  cloak 
about  Hedwig;  and  then  he  walked,  for  fear  of 
catching  cold,  and  the  countryman  mounted  his 
mule  and  clambered  away  in  front.  In  this  way 
Hedwig  and  Nino  lagged  behind,  conversing  in  low 
tones  that  sounded  very  soft ;  and  when  I  looked 
round,  I  could  see  how  he  held  his  hand  on  her  sad 
dle  and  supported  her  in  the  rough  places.  Poor 
child,  who  would  have  thought  she  could  bear  such 
terrible  work!  But  she  had  the  blood  of  a  sol- 


340  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

dierly  old  race  in  her  veins,  and  would  have  strug 
gled  on  silently  till  she  died. 

I  think  it  would  be  useless  to  describe  every 
stone  on  the  desolate  journey,  but  when  the  morn 
ing  dawned  we  were  at  the  top,  and  we  found  the 
descent  much  easier.  The  rosy  streaks  came  first, 
quite  suddenly,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  sun  was 
up,  and  the  eventful  night  was  past.  I  was  never 
so  glad  to  get  rid  of  a  night  in  my  life.  It  is  for 
tunate  that  I  am  so  thin  and  light,  for  I  could 
never  have  reached  the  high-road  alive  had  I  been 
as  fat  as  De  Pretis  is  ;  and  certainly  the  little  don 
key  would  have  died  by  the  way.  He  was  quite  as 
thin  when  I  sold  him  again  as  when  I  bought  him, 
a  fortnight  before,  in  spite  of  the  bread  I  had  given 
him. 

Hedwig  drew  her  veil  close  about  her  face  as  the 
daylight  broke,  for  she  would  not  let  Nino  see  how 
pale  and  tired  she  was.  But  when  at  last  we  were 
in  the  broad,  fertile  valley  which  marks  the  begin 
ning  of  the  old  kingdom  of  Naples,  we  reached  a 
village  where  there  was  an  inn,  and  Nino  turned 
every  one  out  of  the  best  room  with  a  high  hand, 
and  had  a  couch  of  some  sort  spread  for  Hedwig. 
He  himself  walked  up  and  down  outside  the  door 
for  five  whole  hours,  lest  she  should  be  disturbed 
in  her  sleep.  As  for  me,  I  lay  on  a  bench,  rolled 
in  my  cloak,  and  slept  as  I  have  not  slept  since  I 
was  twenty. 

Nino  knew  that  the  danger  of  pursuit  was  past 
now,  and  that  the  first  thing  necessary  was  to  give 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  341 

Hedwig  rest ;  for  she  was  so  tired  that  she  could 
not  eat,  though  there  were  very  good  eggs  to  be 
had,  of  which  I  ate  three,  and  drank  some  wine, 
which  does  not  compare  to  that  on  the  Roman  side. 

The  sturdy  man  from  Subiaco  seemed  like  iron, 
for  he  ate  sparingly  and  drank  less,  and  went  out 
into  the  village  to  secure  a  conveyance  and  to  in 
quire  the  nearest  way  to  Ceprano. 

But  when,  as  I  have  said,  Nino  had  guarded 
Hedwig's  door  for  five  hours  he  woke  me  from  my 
sleep,  and  by  that  time  it  was  about  two  in  the 
afternoon. 

"  Hi,  Messer  Cornelio  !  wake  up !  "  he  cried, 
pulling  my  arm.  And  I  rubbed  my  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Nino  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  want  to  be  married  immediately,"  he  replied, 
still  pulling  at  my  elbow. 

"  Well,  pumpkin-head,"  I  said  angrily,  "  marry, 
then,  in  Heaven's  name,  and  let  me  sleep !  I  do 
not  want  to  marry  anybody." 

"  But  I  do,"  retorted  Nino,  sitting  down  on  the 
bench  and  laying  a  hand  on  my  shoulder.  He 
could  still  see  Hedwig's  door  from  where  he  sat. 

"  In  this  place ?  "  I  asked.    "  Are  you  serious?  " 

"Perfectly.  This  is  a  town  of  some  size,  and 
there  must  be  a  mayor  here  who  marries  people 
when  they  take  the  fancy." 

"  Diavolo !     I  suppose  so,"  I  assented. 

"  A  sindaco,  —  there  must  be  one,  surely." 

"  Very  well,  go  and  find  him,  good-for-nothing ! " 
I  exclaimed. 


342  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"But  I  cannot  go  away  and  leave  that  door  until 
she  wakes,"  he  objected.  "  Dear  Messer  Cornelio, 
you  have  done  so  much  for  me,  and  are  so  kind,  — 
will  you  not  go  out  and  find  the  sindaco,  and  bring 
him  here  to  marry  us  ?  " 

"Nino,"  I  said,  gravely,  "the  ass  is  a  patient 
beast,  and  very  intelligent,  but  there  is  a  limit  to 
his  capabilities.  So  long  as  it  is  merely  a  question, 
of  doing  things  you  cannot  do,  very  well.  But  if 
it  comes  to  this,  that  I  must  find  not  only  the  bride, 
but  also  the  mayor  and  the  priest,  I  say,  with  good 
Pius  IX.,  —  rest  his  soul,  —  non  possumus."  Nino 
laughed.  He  could  afford  to  laugh  now. 

"Messer  Cornelio,  a  child  could  tell  you  have 
been  asleep.  I  never  heard  such  a  string  of  dis 
connected  sentences  in  my  life.  Come,  be  kind, 
and  get  me  a  mayor  that  I  may  be  married." 

"  I  tell  you  I  will  not,"  I  cried  stubbornly.  "  Go 
yourself." 

"  But  I  cannot  leave  the  door.  If  anything 
should  happen  to  her  "  — 

"  Macche  !  What  should  happen  to  her,  pray  ? 
I  will  put  my  bench  across  the  door,  and  sit  there 
till  you  come  back." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  "  —  he  began. 

"  Idiot !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  let  us  see  how  it  looks."  And  with  that 
he  ousted  me  from  my  bench,  and  carried  it,  walk 
ing  on  tiptoe,  to  the  entrance  of  Hedwig's  room. 
Then  he  placed  it  across  the  door.  "  Now  sit  down," 
he  said  authoritatively,  but  in  a  whisper;  and  I 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  343 

took  my  place  in  the  middle  of  the  long  seat.  He 
stood  back  and  looked  at  me  with  an  artistic  squint. 

"  You  look  so  proper,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  sure 
nobody  will  think  of  trying  the  door  while  you  sit 
there.  Will  you  remain  till  I  come  back?" 

"Like  Saint  Peter  in  his  chair,"  I  whispered, 
for  I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  Well,  then,  I  must  risk  whatever  may  happen, 
and  leave  you  here."  So  he  went  away.  Now  I 
ask  you  if  this  was  not  a  ridiculous  position.  But 
I  had  discovered,  in  the  course  of  my  fortnight's 
wanderings,  that  I  was  really  something  of  a  phil 
osopher  in  practice,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  that  on 
this  occasion  I  smoked  in  absolute  indifference  to 
the  absurdity  of  the  thing. 

People  came  and  stood  at  a  distance  in  the  pas 
sage,  and  eyed  me  curiously.  But  they  knew  I 
belonged  to  the  party  of  foreigners,  and  doubtless 
they  supposed  it  was  the  custom  of  my  country  to 
guard  doors  in  that  way. 

An  hour  passed,  and  I  heard  Hedwig  stirring  in 
the  room.  After  a  time  she  came  close  to  the  door 
and  put  her  hand  on  the  lock,  so  that  it  began  to 
rattle ;  but  he  hesitated,  and  went  away  again.  I 
once  more  heard  her  moving  about.  Then  I  heard 
her  open  the  window,  and  at  last  she  came  boldly 
and  opened  the  door,  which  turned  inward.  I  sat 
like  a  rock,  not  knowing  whether  Nino  would  like 
me  to  turn  round  and  look. 

"  Signor  Grand! !  "  she  cried  at  last  in  laughing 
tones. 


344  A    ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Yes,  signorina ! "  I  replied  respectfully,  with 
out  moving.  She  hesitated. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  that  strange  position  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"I  am  mounting  guard,"  I  answered.  "And  I 
promised  Nino  that  I  would  sit  here  till  he  came 
back." 

She  fairly  laughed  now,  and  it  was  the  most  airy, 
silvery  laugh  in  the  world. 

"  But  why  do  you  not  look  at  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  Nino  would  let  me,"  said  I. 
"I  promised  not  to  move,  and  I  will  keep  my 
promise." 

"Will  you  let  me  out?"  she  asked,  struggling 
with  her  merriment. 

"  By  no  means,"  I  answered ;  "  any  more  than  I 
would  let  anybody  in." 

"  Then  we  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  she. 
"  But  I  will  bring  a  chair  and  sit  down,  while  you 
tell  me  the  news." 

"  Will  you  assume  all  responsibility  toward  Nino, 
signorina,  if  I  turn  so  that  I  can  see  you  ?  "  I  asked, 
as  she  sat  down. 

"  I  will  say  that  I  positively  ordered  you  to  do 
so,"  she  answered,  gayly.  "  Now  look,  and  tell  me 
where  Signer  Cardegna  is  gone." 

I  looked  indeed,  and  it  was  long  before  I  looked 
away.  The  rest,  the  freedom,  and  the  happiness 
had  done  their  work  quickly,  in  spite  of  all  the 
dreadful  anxiety  and  fatigue.  The  fresh,  trans 
parent  color  was  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  blue  eyes 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  345 

were  clear  and  bright.  The  statue  had  been  through 
the  fire,  and  was  made  a  living  thing,  beautiful, 
and  breathing,  and  real. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  the  light  dancing  in  her 
eyes,  "  where  is  he  gone  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone  to  find  the  mayor  of  this  imposing 
capital,"  I  replied.  Hedwig  suddenly  blushed,  and 
turned  her  glistening  eyes  away.  She  was  beauti 
ful  so. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  signorina?  I  ought  not  to 
ask  the  question,  for  you  look  as  though  you  had 
never  been  tired  in  your  life." 

There  is  no  saying  what  foolish  speeches  I  might 
have  made  had  not  Nino  returned.  He  was  radi 
ant,  and  I  anticipated  that  he  must  have  succeeded 
in  his  errand. 

"  Ha !  Messer  Cornelio,  is  this  the  way  you  keep 
watch?"  he  cried. 

"  I  found  him  here,"  said  Hedwig  shyly,  "  and 
he  would  not  even  glance  at  me  until  I  positively 
insisted  upon  it." 

Nino  laughed,  as  he  would  have  laughed  at  most 
things  in  that  moment,  for  sheer  superfluity  of  hap 
piness. 

"  Signorina,"  he  said,  "  would  it  be  agreeable  to 
you  to  walk  for  a  few  minutes  after  your  sleep? 
The  weather  is  wonderfully  fine,  and  I  am  sure  you 
owe  it  to  the  world  to  show  the  roses  which  rest  has 
given  you." 

Hedwig  blushed  softly,  and  I  rose  and  went  away, 
conceiving  that  I  had  kept  watch  long  enough.  But 


346  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

Nino  called  after  me,  as  he  moved  the  bench  from 
the  door. 

"  Messer  Cornelio,  will  you  not  come  with  us  ? 
Surely  you  need  a  walk  very  much,  and  we  can  ill 
spare  your  company.  My  lady,  let  me  offer  you  my 
arm." 

In  this  manner  we  left  the  inn,  a  wedding  pro 
cession  which  could  not  have  been  much  smaller, 
and  the  singing  of  an  old  woman,  who  sat  with 
her  distaff  in  front  of  her  house,  was  the  wedding 
march.  Nino  seemed  in  no  great  haste,  I  thought, 
and  I  let  them  walk  as  they  would,  while  I  kept 
soberly  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  a  little  way  be 
hind. 

It  was  not  far  that  we  had  to  go,  however,  and 
soon  we  came  to  a  large  brick  house,  with  an  un 
commonly  small  door,  over  which  hung  a  wooden 
shield  with  the  arms  of  Italy  brightly  painted  in 
green  and  red  and  white. 

Nino  and  Hedwig  entered  arm  in  arm,  and  I 
slunk  guiltily  in  after  them.  Hedwig  had  drawn 
her  veil,  which  was  the  only  head-dress  she  had, 
close  about  her  face. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  little  ceremony  was 
over,  and  the  registers  were  signed  by  us  all.  Nino 
also  got  a  stamped  certificate,  which  he  put  very 
carefully  in  his  pocket-book.  I  never  knew  what  it 
cost  Nino  to  overcome  the  scruples  of  the  sindaco 
about  marrying  a  strange  couple  from  Rome  in 
that  outlandish  place,  where  the  peasants  stared  at 
us  as  though  we  had  been  the  most  unnatural  curi- 


A   POM  AN  SINGER.  347 

osities,  and  even  the  pigs  in  the  street  jogged  sul 
lenly  out  of  our  way,  as  though  not  recognizing 
that  we  were  human. 

At  all  events,  the  thing  was  done,  and  Hedwig 
von  Lira  became  for  the  rest  of  her  life  Edvigia 
Cardegna.  And  I  felt  very  guilty.  The  pair  went 
down  the  steps  of  the  house  together  in  front  of  me, 
and  stopped  as  they  reached  the  street ;  forgetting 
my  presence,  I  presume.  They  had  not  forgotten 
me  so  long  as  I  was  needed  to  be  of  use  to  them ; 
but  I  must  not  complain. 

"  We  can  face  the  world  together  now,  my  dear 
lady,"  said  Nino,  as  he  drew  her  little  hand  through 
his  arm.  She  looked  up  at  him,  and  I  could  see 
her  side  face.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression. 
There  was  in  it  something  I  really  never  saw  be 
fore,  which  made  me  feel  as  though  I  were  in 
church  ;  and  I  knew  then  that  there  was  no  wrong 
in  helping  such  love  as  that  to  its  fulfillment. 

By  the  activity  of  the  man  from  Subiaco,  a  curi 
ous  conveyance  was  ready  for  us,  being  something 
between  a  gig  and  a  cart,  and  a  couple  of  strong 
horses  were  hired  for  the  long  drive.  The  country 
man,  who  had  grown  rich  in  the  last  three  days, 
offered  to  buy  the  thin  little  ass  which  had  carried 
me  so  far  and  so  well.  He  observed  that  he  was 
blind  of  one  eye,  which  I  had  never  found  out,  and 
I  do  not  believe  it  was  true.  The  way  he  showed  it 
was  by  snapping  his  fingers  close  to  the  eye  in  ques 
tion.  The  donkey  winked,  and  the  countryman  said 
that  if  the  eye  were  good  the  beast  would  see  that 


348  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  noise  was  made  by  the  fingers,  and  would  not 
be  frightened,  and  would  therefore  not  wink. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  he  thinks  it  is  a  whip 
cracking,  and  so  he  is  afraid." 

"  Do  donkeys  always  wink  when  they  are  fright 
ened?"!  inquired.  "It  is  very  interesting." 

"Yes,"  said  the  countryman,  "they  mostly  do." 
At  all  events,  I  was  obliged  to  take  the  man's  own 
price,  which  was  little  enough  —  not  a  third  of  what 
I  had  given. 

The  roads  were  good,  and  the  long  and  the  short 
of  the  matter,  without  any  more  details,  is  that  we 
reached  Rome  very  early  the  next  morning,  having 
caught  the  night  train  from  Naples.  Hedwig  slept 
most  of  the  time  in  the  carriage  and  all  the  time  in 
the  train,  while  Nino,  who  seemed  never  to  tire  or 
to  need  sleep,  sat  watching  her  with  wide,  happy 
eyes.  But  perhaps  he  slept  a  little,  too,  for  I  did, 
and  I  cannot  answer  for  his  wakefulness  through 
every  minute  of  the  night. 

Once  I  asked  him  what  he  intended  to  do  in 
Rome. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  hotel  Costanzi,"  he  answered, 
"  which  is  a  foreigners'  resort.  And  if  she  is  rested 
enough  we  will  come  down  to  you,  and  see  what  we 
can  do  about  being  married  properly  in  church  by 
the  old  curato." 

"  The  marriage  by  the  sindaco  is  perfectly  legal," 
I  remarked. 

"  It  is  a  legal  contract,  but  it  is  not  a  marriage 
that  pleases  me,"  he  said  gravely. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  349 

"  But,  caro  mio,  without  offense,  your  bride  is  a 
Protestant,  a  Lutheran  ;  not  to  mince  matters,  a 
heretic.  They  will  make  objections." 

"  She  is  an  angel,"  said  Nino,  with  great  convic 
tion. 

"  But  the  angels  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in 
marriage,"  I  objected,  arguing  the  point  to  pass  the 
time. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  then,  Messer  Cor- 
nelio  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  as  a  heretic  she  ought  to  burn,  and  as  an 
angel  she  ought  not  to  marry." 

"  It  is  better  to  marry  than  to  burn,"  retorted 
Nino  triumphantly. 

"  Diavolo !  Have  you  had  Saint  Paul  for  a 
tutor?"  I  asked,  for  I  knew  the  quotation,  being 
fond  of  Greek. 

"  I  heard  a  preacher  cite  it  once  at  the  Gesu,  and 
I  thought  it  a  good  saying." 

Early  in  the  morning  we  rolled  into  the  great 
station  of  Rome,  and  took  an  affectionate  leave  of 
each  other,  with  the  promise  that  Hedwig  and  Nino 
would  visit  me  in  the  course  of  the  day.  I  saw 
them  into  a  carriage,  with  Nino's  small  portmanteau 
and  Hedwig's  bundle,  and  then  mounted  a  modest 
omnibus  that  runs  from  the  Termini  to  St.  Peter's, 
and  goes  very  near  my  house. 

All  the  bells  were  ringing  gladly,  as  if  to  wel 
come  us,  for  it  was  Easter  morning ;  and  though  it 
is  not  so  kept  as  it  used  to  be,  it  is  nevertheless  a 
great  feast.  Besides,  the  spring  was  at  hand,  and 


350  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  acacia-trees  in  the  great  square  were  budding, 
though  everything  was  still  so  backward  in  the  hills. 
April  was  at  hand,  which  the  foreigners  think  is  our 
best  month ;  but  I  prefer  June  and  July,  when  the 
weather  is  warm,  and  the  music  plays  in  the  Piazza 
Colonna  of  an  evening.  For  all  that,  April  is  a 
glad  time,  after  the  disagreeable  winter. 

There  was  with  me  much  peace  on  that  Easter 
day,  for  I  felt  that  my  dear  boy  was  safe  after  all 
his  troubles..  At  least,  he  was  safe  from  anything 
that  could  be  done  to  part  him  from  Hedwig ;  for 
the  civil  laws  are  binding,  and  Hedwig  was  of  the 
age  when  a  young  woman  is  legally  free  to  marry 
whom  she  pleases.  Of  course  old  Lira  might  still 
make  himself  disagreeable,  but  I  fancied  him  too 
much  a  man  of  the  world  to  desire  a  scandal,  when 
no  good  could  follow.  The  one  shadow  in  the  future 
was  the  anger  of  Benoni,  who  would  be  certain  to 
seek  some  kind  of  revenge  for  the  repulse  he  had 
suffered.  I  was  still  ignorant  of  his  whereabouts, 
not  yet  knowing  what  I  knew  long  afterwards,  and 
have  told  you,  because  otherwise  you  would  have 
been  as  much  in  the  dark  as  he  was  himself,  when 
Temistocle  cunningly  turned  the  lock  of  the  stair 
case  door  and  left  him  to  his  curses  and  his  medita 
tions.  I  have  had  much  secret  joy  in  thinking  what 
a  wretched  night  he  must  have  passed  there,  and 
how  his  long  limbs  must  have  ached  with  sitting 
about  on  the  stones,  and  how  hoarse  he  must  have 
been  from  the  dampness  and  the  swearing. 

I  reached  home,  the  dear  old  number  twenty- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  351 

seven  in  Santa  Catarina  dei  Funari,  by  half  past 
seven,  or  even  earlier ;  and  I  was  glad  when  I  rang 
the  bell  on  the  landing,  and  called  through  the  key 
hole  in  my  impatience. 

"  Mariuccia,  Mariuccia,  come  quickly !  It  is  I !  " 
I  cried. 

"  O  Madonna  mia ! "  I  heard  her  exclaim,  and 
there  was  a  tremendous  clatter,  as  she  dropped  the 
coffee-pot.  She  was  doubtless  brewing  herself  a 
quiet  cup  with  my  best  Porto  Rico,  which  I  do  not 
allow  her  to  use.  She  thought  I  was  never  com 
ing  back,  the  cunning  old  hag ! 

"  Dio  mio,  Signer  Professore  !  A  good  Easter  to 
you !  "  she  cried,  as  I  heard  the  flat  pattering  of  her 
old  feet  inside,  running  to  the  door.  "  I  thought  the 
wolves  had  eaten  you,  padrone  mio.!  "  And  at  last 
she  let  me  in. 


XXIII. 

"  A  TALL  gentleman  came  here  late  last  night, 
Signer  Professore,"  said  Mariuccia,  as  I  sat  down 
in  the  old  green  armchair.  "  He  seemed  very  an 
gry  about  something  and  said  he  must  positively 
see  you."  The  idea  of  Benoni  flashed  uneasily 
across  my  brain. 

"  Was  he  the  grave  signore  who  came  a  few  days 
before  I  left  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  "  ejaculated  Mariuccia. 
"  This  one  was  much  older,  and  seemed  to  be  lame ; 
for  when  he  tried  to  shake  his  stick  at  me,  he  could 
not  stand  without  it.  He  looked  like  one  of  the 
old  Swiss  guards  at  Palazzo."  By  which  she  meant 
the  Vatican,  as  you  know. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  count,"  I  said,  thinking 
aloud. 

"  A  count  !  A  pretty  sort  of  count,  indeed,  to 
come  waking  people  from  their  beds  in  the  night ! 
He  had  not  even  a  high  hat  like  the  one  you  wear 
when  you  go  to  the  university.  A  count,  indeed !  " 

"  Go  and  make  me  some  good  coffee,  Mariuc 
cia,"  I  said,  eying  her  severely  to  show  I  suspected 
her  of  having  used  mine  ;  "  and  be  careful  to  make 
it  of  my  best  Porto  Rico,  if  you  have  any  left,  with 
out  any  chicory." 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  353 

"  A  count,  indeed !  "  she  muttered  angrily  as  she 
hobbled  away,  not  in  the  least  heeding  my  last  re 
mark,  which  I  believed  to  be  withering. 

I  had  not  much  time  for  reflection  that  morning. 
My  old  clothes  were  in  tatters,  and  the  others  looked 
very  fine  by  contrast,  so  that  when  I  had  made  my 
toilet  I  felt  better  able  to  show  myself  to  the  dis 
tinguished  company  I  expected.  I  had  seen  so 
much  extraordinary  endurance  in  Nino  and  Hed- 
wig  during  the  last  two  or  three  days  that  I  was 
prepared  to  see  them  appear  at  any  moment, 
brushed  and  curled  and  ready  for  anything.  The 
visit  of  the  count,  however,  had  seriously  disturbed 
me,  and  I  hardly  knew  what  to  look  for  from  him. 
As  it  turned  out  I  had  not  long  to  wait. 

I  was  resting  myself  in  the  armchair,  and  smok 
ing  one  of  those  infamous  cigars  that  nearly  suffo 
cate  me,  just  for  company,  and  I  was  composing  in 
my  mind  a  letter  to  the  authorities  of  the  univer 
sity,  requesting  that  I  might  begin  to  lecture  again. 
I  did  not  find  out  until  later  that  I  need  not  have 
written  to  them  at  all  when  I  went  away,  as  ten 
days  are  always  allowed  at  Easter,  in  any  case.  It 
is  just  like  my  forgetfulness,  to  have  made  such  a 
mistake.  I  really  only  missed  four  lectures.  But 
my  composition  was  interrupted  by  the  door-bell,  and 
my  heart  sank  in  my  breast.  Mariuccia  opened, 
and  I  knew  by  the  sound  of  the  stick  on  the  bricks 
that  the  lame  count  had  come  to  wreak  his  ven 
geance. 

Being  much  frightened,  I  was  very  polite,  and 

23 


354  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

bowed  a  great  many  times  as  he  came  toward  me. 
It  was  he,  looking  much  the  same  as  ever,  wooden 
and  grizzly. 

"  I  am  much  honored,  sir,"  I  began,  "  by  seeing 
you  here." 

"  You  are  Signer  Grandi  ?  "  he  inquired  with  a 
stiff  bow. 

"  The  same,  Signor  Conte,  and  very  much  at  your 
service,"  I  answered,  rubbing  my  hands  together  to 
give  myself  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"  Let  us  not  waste  time,"  he  said  severely,  but 
not  roughly.  "I  have  come  to  you  on  business. 
My  daughter  has  disappeared  with  your  son,  or 
whatever  relation  the  Signor  Giovanni  Cardegna  is 
to  you." 

"  He  is  no  relation,  Signor  Conte.  He  was  an 
orphan,  and  I "  — 

"  It  is  the  same,"  he  interrupted.  "  You  are  re 
sponsible  for  his  doings." 

I  responsible  !  Good  heavens,  had  I  not  done 
all  in  my  power  to  prevent  the  rashness  of  that 
hot-headed  boy  ? 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down,  sir  ?  "  I  said,  moving  a 
chair  for  him.  He  took  the  seat  rather  reluctantly. 

"You  do  not  seem  much  astonished  at  what  I 
tell  you,"  he  remarked.  "  It  is  evident  that  you 
are  in  the  plot." 

"  Unless  you  will  inform  me  of  what  you  know, 
Signor  Conte,"  I  replied  with  urbanity,  "  I  cannot 
see  how  I  can  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  he,  "  I  am  the  person  to 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  355 

ask  questions.  I  wake  up  in  the  morning  and  find 
my  daughter  gone.  I  naturally  inquire  where  she 
is." 

"  Most  naturally,  as  you  say,  sir.  I  would  do  the 
same." 

"  And  you,  also  very  naturally,  answer  my  ques 
tions,"  he  continued  severely. 

"In  that  case,  sir,"  I  replied,  "I  would  call  to 
your  attention  the  fact  that  you  have  asked  but  one 
question,  —  whether  I  were  Signer  Grandi.  I  an 
swered  that  in  the  affirmative."  You  see  I  was 
apprehensive  of  what  he  might  do,  and  desired  to 
gain  time.  But  he  began  to  lose  his  temper. 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you  Italians,"  he  said 
gruffly ;  "  you  bandy  words  and  play  with  them  as 
if  you  enjoyed  it." 

Diavolo !  thought  I ;  he  is  angry  at  my  silence. 
What  will  he  be  if  I  speak  ? 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  know,  Signer  Conte  ?  "  I 
inquired  in  suave  tones. 

"  I  wish  to  know  where  my  daughter  is.  Where 
is  she  ?  Do  you  understand  ?  I  am  asking  a  ques 
tion  now,  and  you  cannot  deny  it." 

I  was  sitting  in  front  of  him,  but  I  rose  and  pre 
tended  to  shut  the  door,  thus  putting  the  table  and 
the  end  of  the  piano  between  us,  before  I  answered. 

"  She  is  in  Rome,  Signer  Conte,"  I  said. 

"  With  Cardegna?  "  he  asked,  not  betraying  any 
emotion. 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well.     I  will  have  them  arrested  at  once. 


356  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

That  is  all  I  wanted."  He  put  his  crutch  stick  to 
the  floor  as  though  about  to  rise.  Seeing  that  his 
anger  was  not  turned  against  me,  I  grew  bold. 

"  You  had  better  not  do  that,"  I  mildly  observed, 
across  the  table. 

"  And  why  not,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  quickly,  hesitat 
ing  whether  to  get  upon  his  feet  or  to  remain 
seated. 

"  Because  they  are  married  already,"  I  answered, 
retreating  toward  the  door.  But  there  was  no  need 
for  flight.  He  sank  back  in  the  chair,  and  the 
stick  fell  from  his  hands  upon  the  bricks  with  a 
loud  rattle.  Poor  old  man !  I  thought  he  was 
quite  overcome  by  the  news  I  had  communicated. 
He  sat  staring  at  the  window,  his  hands  lying  idly 
on  his  knees.  I  moved  to  come  toward  him,  but  he 
raised  one  hand  and  began  to  twirl  his  great  gray 
mustache  fiercely;  whereat  I  resumed  my  former 
position  of  safety. 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  "  he  demanded  on  a 
sudden. 

"  I  was  present  at  the  civil  marriage  yesterday," 
I  answered,  feeling  very  much  scared.  He  began 
to  notice  my  manoeuvre. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  frightened,"  he  said  coldly. 
"  It  would  be  of  no  use  to  kill  any  of  you  now, 
though  I  would  like  to."  \ 

"  I  assure  you  that  no  one  ever  frightened  me  in 
my  own  house,  sir,"  I  answered.  I  think  my  voice 
must  have  sounded  very  bold,  for  he  did  not  laugh 
at  me. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  357 

"I  suppose  it  is  irrevocable,"  he  said,  as  if  to 
himself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  perfectly  irrevocable,"  I  answered 
promptly.  "They  are  married,  and  have  come 
back  to  Rome.  They  are  at  the  hotel  Costanzi.  I 
am  sure  that  Nino  would  give  you  every  explana 
tion." 

"  Who  is  Nino,"  he  asked. 

"  Nino  Cardegna,  of  course  "  — 

"  And  do  you  foolishly  imagine  that  I  am  going 
to  ask  him  to  explain  why  he  took  upon  himself 
to  carry  away  my  daughter  ?  "  The  question  was 
scornful  enough. 

"  Signer  Conte,"  I  protested,  "you  would  do  well 
to  see  them,  for  she  is  your  daughter,  after  all." 

"  She  is  not  my  daughter  any  longer,"  growled 
the  count.  "  She  is  married  to  a  singer,  a  tenor, 
an  Italian  with  curls  and  lies  and  grins,  as  you  all 
have.  Fie !  "  And  he  pulled  his  mustache  again. 

"A  singer,"  said  I,  "if  you  like,  but  a  great 
singer,  and  an  honest  man." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  come  here  to  listen  to  your 
praises  of  that  scoundrel ! "  he  exclaimed  hotly. 
"  I  have  seen  enough  of  him  to  be  sick  of  him." 

"  I  wish  he  were  in  this  room  to  hear  you  call 
him  by  such  names,"  I  said ;  for  I  began  to  grow 
angry,  as  I  sometimes  do,  and  then  my  fear  grows 
small  and  my  heart  grows  big. 

"Ah?"  said  he  ironically.  "And  pray,  what 
would  he  do  to  me  ?  " 

"He  would  probably  ask  you   again  for  that 


358  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

pistol  you  refused  to  lend  him  the  other  day."  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  show  that  I  knew  all  about 
the  meeting  in  the  road.  But  Lira  laughed  grimly, 
and  the  idea  of  a  fight  seemed  to  please  him. 

"  I  would  not  refuse  it  this  time.  In  fact,  since 
you  mention  it,  I  think  I  will  go  and  offer  it  to  him 
now.  Do  you  think  I  should  be  justified,  Master 
Censor?" 

"No,"  said  I,  coming  forward  and  facing  him. 
"  But  if  you  like  you  can  fight  me.  I  am  your  own 
age,  and  a  better  match."  I  would  have  fought 
him  then  and  there,  with  the  chairs,  if  he  had  liked. 

"  Why  should  I  fight  you  ? "  he  inquired,  in 
some  astonishment.  "You  strike  me  as  a  very 
peaceable  person  indeed." 

"  Diavolo !  do  you  expect  me  to  stand  quietly 
and  hear  you  call  my  boy  a  scoundrel  ?  What  do 
you  take  me  for,  signore?  Do  you  know  that  I 
am  the  last  of  the  Conti  Grandi,  and  as  noble  as 
any  of  you,  and  as  fit  to  fight,  though  my  hair  is 
gray?" 

"  I  knew,  indeed,  that  one  member  of  that  illus 
trious  family  survived  in  Rome,"  he  answered 
gravely,  "  but  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  he.  I 
am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  I  sincerely 
wish  that  you  were  the  father  of  the  young  man 
who  has  married  my  daughter.  If  you  were,  I 
should  be  ready  to  arrange  matters."  He  looked 
at  me  searchingly. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  am  not  any  relation  of  his," 
I  answered.  "  His  father  and  mother  were  peasants 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  359 

on  my  estate  of  Serveti,  when  it  still  was  mine. 
They  died  when  he  was  a  baby  and  I  took  care  of 
him  and  educated  him." 

. "  Yes,  he  is  well  educated,"  reflected  the  count, 
"  for  I  examined  him  myself.  Let  us  talk  no  more 
about  fighting.  You  are  quite  sure  that  the  mar 
riage  is  legal." 

"  Quite  certain.  You  can  do  nothing,  and  any 
attempt  would  be  a  useless  scandal.  Besides,  they 
are  so  happy,  you  do  not  know." 

"  So  happy,  are  they  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  happy, 
too?" 

"  A  man  has  every  reason  to  be  so,  when  his 
daughter  marries  an  honest  man.  It  is  a  piece  of 
good  luck  that  does  not  happen  often." 

"  Probably  from  the  scarcity  of  daughters  who 
are  willing  to  drive  their  fathers  to  distraction  by 
their  disobedience  and  contempt  of  authority,"  he 
said  savagely. 

"  No,  —  from  the  scarcity  of  honest  men,"  I 
said.  "  Nino  is  a  very  honest  man.  You  may  go 
from  one  end  of  Italy  to  the  other,  and  not  meet 
one  like  him." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  so,"  growled  Lira.  "  Other 
wise  Italy  would  be  as  wholly  unredeemed  and  un 
redeemable  as  you  pretend  that  some  parts  of  it  are 
now.  But  I  will  tell  you,  Conte  Grandi,  you  can 
not  walk  across  the  street,  in  my  country,  without 
meeting  a  dozen  men  who  would  tremble  at  the 
idea  of  such  depravity  as  an  elopement." 

"  Our   ideas  of   honesty  differ,  sir,"  I   replied. 


360  A     ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  When  a  man  loves  a  woman,  I  consider  it  honest 
in  him  to  act  as  though  he  did,  and  not  to  go  and 
marry  another  for  consolation,  beating  her  with  a 
thick  stick  whenever  he  chances  to  think  of  the 
first.  That  seems  to  be  the  northern  idea  of  do 
mestic  felicity."  Lira  laughed  gruffly,  supposing 
that  my  picture  was  meant  for  a  jest.  "  I  am  glad 
you  are  amused,"  I  added. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  you  are  so 
vastly  amusing  that  I  am  half  inclined  to  forgive 
my  daughter's  rashness,  for  the  sake  of  enjoying 
your  company.  First  you  intrench  yourself  behind 
your  furniture  ;  then  you  propose  to  fight  me  ;  and 
now  you  give  me  the  most  original  views  upon  love 
and  marriage  that  I  ever  heard.  Indeed,  I  have 
cause  to  be  amused." 

"  I  am  happy  to  oblige  you,"  I  said  tartly ;  for 
I  did  not  like  his  laughter.  "  So  long  as  you  con 
fine  your  amusement  to  me,  I  am  satisfied ;  but 
pray  avoid  using  any  objectionable  language  about 
Nino." 

"  Then  my  only  course  is  to  avoid  the  subject  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  I  replied,  with  much  dignity. 

"  In  that  case  I  will  go,"  he  said.  I  was  im 
mensely  relieved,  for  his  presence  was  most  un 
pleasant,  as  you  may  readily  guess.  He  got  upon 
his  feet,  and  I  showed  him  to  the  door  with  all 
courtesy.  I  expected  that  he  would  say  something 
about  the  future  before  leaving  me,  but  I  was  mis 
taken.  He  bowed  in  silence,  and  stumped  down 
the  steps  with  his  stick. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  361 

I  sank  into  my  armchair  with  a  great  sigh  of 
relief,  for  I  felt  that,  for  me  at  least,  the  worst  was 
over.  I  had  faced  the  infuriated  father,  and  I 
might  now  face  anybody  with  the  consciousness  of 
power.  I  always  feel  conscious  of  great  power  when 
the  danger  is  past.  Once  more  I  lit  my  cigar,  and 
stretched  myself  out  to  take  some  rest.  The  con 
stant  strain  on  the  nerves  was  becoming  very  wear 
ing,  and  I  knew  well  that  on  the  morrow  I  should 
need  bleeding  and  mallows  tea.  Hardly  was  I  set 
tled  and  comfortable  when  I  heard  that  dreadful 
bell  again. 

"  This  is  the  day  of  the  resurrection  indeed," 
cried  Mariuccia  frantically  from  the  kitchen.  And 
she  hurried  to  the  door.  But  I  cannot  describe  to 
you  the  screams  of  joy  and  the  strange  sounds,  be 
tween  laughing  and  crying,  that  her  leathern  throat 
produced  when  she  found  Nino  and  Hedwig  on  the 
landing,  waiting  for  admission.  And  when  Nino 
explained  that  he  had  been  married,  and  that  this 
beautiful  lady  with  the  bright  eyes  and  the  golden 
hair  was  his  wife,  the  old  woman  fairly  gave  way, 
and  sat  upon  a  chair  in  an  agony  of  amazement 
and  admiration.  But  the  pair  came  toward  me, 
and  I  met  them  with  a  light  heart. 

"  Nino,"  said  Hedwig,  "  we  have  not  been  nearly 
grateful  enough  to  Signor  Grandi  for  all  he  has 
done.  I  have  been  very  selfish,"  she  said  penitently, 
turning  to  me. 

"  Ah  no,  signora,"  I  replied,  —  for  she  was  mar 
ried  now,  and  no  longer  "  signorina,"  —  "  it  is 


362  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

never  selfish  of  such  as  you  to  let  an  old  man  do 
you  service.  You  have  made  me  very  happy."  And 
then  I  embraced  Nino,  and  Hedwig  gave  me  her 
hand,  which  I  kissed  in  the  old  fashion. 

"  And  so  this  is  your  old  home,  Nino,"  said  Hed 
wig  presently,  looking  about  her,  and  touching  the 
things  in  the  room,  as  a  woman  will  when  she 
makes  acquaintance  with  a  place  she  has  often 
heard  of.  "What  a  dear  room  it  is !  I  wish  we 
could  live  here  !  "  How  very  soon  a  woman  learns 
that  "  we  "  that  means  so  much  !  It  is  never  for 
gotten,  even  when  the  love  that  bred  it  is  dead  and 
cold. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  for  Nino  seemed  so  enraptured,  as 
he  watched  her,  that  he  could  not  speak.  "And 
there  is  the  old  piano,  with  the  end  on  the  boxes, 
because  it  has  no  leg,  as  I  dare  say  Nino  has  often 
told  you." 

"  Nino  said  it  was  a  very  good  piano,"  said  she. 

"  And  indeed  it  is,"  he  cried,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  It  is  out  of  tune  now,  perhaps ;  but  it  is  the 
source  of  all  my  fortune."  He  leaned  over  the 
crazy  instrument  and  seemed  to  caress  it. 

"  Poor  old  thing !  "  said  Hedwig  compassion 
ately.  "  I  am  sure  there  is  music  in  it  still,  —  the 
sweet  nmsic  of  the  past." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  it  must  be  the  music 
of  the  past,  for  it  would  not  stand  the  '  music  of 
the  future,'  as  they  call  it,  for  five  minutes.  All 
the  strings  would  break."  Hedwig  sat  down  on 
the  chair  that  was  in  front  of  it,  and  her  fingers 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  363 

went  involuntarily  to  the  keys,  though  she  is  no 
great  musician. 

"  I  can  play  a  little,  you  know,  Nino,"  she  said 
shyly,  and  looked  up  to  his  face  for  a  response,  not 
venturing  to  strike  the  chords.  And  it  would  have 
done  you  good  to  see  how  brightly  Nino  smiled  and 
encouraged  her  little  offer  of  music,  —  he,  the  great 
artist,  in  whose  life  music  was  both  sword  and  scep 
tre.  But  he  knew  that  she  had  greatness  also  of  a 
different  kind,  and  he  loved  the  small  jewels  in  his 
crown  as  well  as  the  glorious  treasures  of  its  larger 
wealth. 

"  Play  to  me,  my  love,"  he  said,  not  caring  now 
whether  I  heard  the  sweet  words  or  not.  Shff" 
blushed  a  little,  nevertheless,  and  glanced  at  me ; 
then  her  fingers  strayed  over  the  keys,  and  drew 
out  music  that  was  very  soft  and  yet  very  gay. 
Suddenly  she  ceased,  and  leaned  forward  on  the 
desk  of  the  piano,  looking  at  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  Nino,  it  was  once  my  dream  to 
be  a  great  musician.  If  I  had  not  been  so  rich  I 
should  have  taken  the  profession  in  earnest.  But 
now,  you  see  it  is  different,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  different  now,"  he  answered,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  she  meant,  but  radiantly 
happy,  all  the  same. 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  hesitating — "I  mean  that 
now  that  we  are  to  be  always  together,  what  you  do 
I  do,  and  what  I  do  you  do.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  perfectly,"  replied  Nino,  rather  puzzled, 
but  quite  satisfied. 


364  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  Ah  no,  dear,"  said  she,  forgetting  my  presence, 
and  letting  her  hand  steal  into  his  as  he  stood, 
"  you  do  not  understand  —  quite.  I  mean  that  so 
long  as  one  of  us  can  be  a  great  musician  it  is 
enough,  and  I  am  just  as  great  as  though  I  did  it 
all  myself." 

Thereupon  Nino  forgot  himself  altogether,  and 
kissed  her  golden  hair.  But  then  he  saw  me  look 
ing,  for  it  was  so  pretty  a  sight  that  I  could  not 
help  it,  and  he  remembered. 

"  Oh ! " .  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  embarrassment, 
that  I  had  never  heard  before.  Then  Hedwig 
blushed  very  much,  too,  and  looked  away,  and  Nino 
put  himself  between  her  and  me,  so  that  I  might 
not  see  her. 

"  Could  you  play  something  for  me  to  sing,  Hed 
wig  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  can  play  '  Spirto  gentil,'  by  heart," 
she  cried,  hailing  the  idea  with  delight. 

In  a  moment  they  were  both  lost,  and  indeed  so 
was  I,  in  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the  simple  mel 
ody.  As  he  began  to  sing,  Nino  bent  down  to  her, 
and  almost  whispered  the  first  words  into  her  ear. 
But  soon  he  stood  erect,  and  let  the  music  flow  from 
his  lips,  just  as  God  made  it.  His  voice  was  tired 
with  the  long  watching  and  the  dust  and  cold  and 
heat  of  the  journey ;  but,  as  De  Pretis  said  when 
he  began,  he  has  an  iron  throat,  and  the  weariness 
only  made  the  tones  soft  and  tender  and  thrilling, 
that  would  perhaps  have  been  too  strong  for  my 
little  Boom. 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  365 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  a 
note,  and  gazed  open-mouthed  at  the  door.  And  I 
looked,  too,  and  was  horrified ;  and  Hedwig,  look 
ing  also,  screamed  and  sprang  back  to  the  window, 
overturning  the  chair  she  had  sat  on. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Ahasuerus  Benoni,  the 
Jew. 

Mariuccia  had  imprudently  forgotten  to  shut  the 
door  when  Hedwig  and  Nino  came,  and  the  baron 
had  walked  in  unannounced.  You  may  imagine 
the  fright  I  was  in.  But,  after  all,  it  was  natural 
enough  that,  after  what  had  occurred,  he  as  well  as 
the  count  should  seek  an  interview  with  me,  to  ob 
tain  what  information  I  was  willing  to  give. 

There  he  stood  in  his  gay  clothes,  tall  and  thin 
and  smiling  as  of  yore. 


XXIV. 

NINO  is  a  man  for  great  emergencies,  as  I  have 
had  occasion  to  say,  and  when  he  realized  who  the 
unwelcome  visitor  was,  he  acted  as  promptly  as 
usual.  With  a  face  like  marble  he  walked  straight 
across  the  room  to  Benoni  and  faced  him. 

"  Baron  Benoni,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  warn 
you  that  you  are  most  unwelcome  here.  If  you  at 
tempt  to  say  any  word  to  my  wife,  or  to  force  an 
entrance,  I  will  make  short  work  of  you."  Benoni 
eyed  him  Math  a  sort  of  pitying  curiosity  as  he  made 
this  speech. 

"  Do  not  fear,  Signor  Cardegna.  I  came  to  see 
Signer  Grandi,  and  to  ascertain  from  him  precisely 
what  you  have  volunteered  to  tell  me.  You  cannot 
suppose  that  I  have  any  object  in  interrupting  the 
leisure  of  a  great  artist,  or  the  privacy  of  his  very 
felicitous  domestic  relations.  I  have  not  a  great 
deal  to  say.  That  is,  I  have  always  a  great  deal  to 
say  about  everything,  but  I  shall  at  present  confine 
myself  to  a  very  little." 

"  You  will  be  wise,"  said  Nino,  "  and  you  would 
be  wiser  if  you  confined  yourself  to  nothing  at  all." 

"  Patience,  Signor  Cardegna,"  protested  Benoni. 
"  You  will  readily  conceive  that  I  am  a  little  out  of 
breath  with  the  stairs,  for  I  am  a  very  old  man." 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  367 

"  In  that  case,"  I  said,  from  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  "  I  may  as  well  occupy  your  breathing  time 
by  telling  you  that  any  remarks  you  are  likely  to 
make  to  me  have  been  forestalled  by  the  Graf  von 
Lira,  who  has  been  with  me  this  morning."  Benoni 
smiled,  but  both  Hedwig  and  Nino  looked  at  me  in 
surprise. 

"I  only  wished  to  say,"  returned  Benoni,  "that 
I  consider  you  in  the  light  of  an  interesting  phe 
nomenon.  Nay,  Signer  Cardegna,  do  not  look  so 
fierce.  I  am  an  old  man  "  — 

"  An  old  devil !  "  said  Nino,  hotly. 

"  An  old  fool !  "  said  I. 

"An  old  reprobate !  "  said  Hedwig,  from  her  cor 
ner,  in  deepest  indignation. 

"  Precisely,"  returned  Benoni,  smilingly.  "  Many 
people  have  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  so  before. 
Thanks,  kind  friends ;  I  believe  you  with  all  my 
heart.  Meanwhile,  man,  devil,  fool,  or  reprobate, 
I  am  very  old.  I  am  about  to  leave  Rome  for  St. 
Petersburg,  and  I  will  take  this  last  opportunity  of 
informing  you  that  in  a  very  singularly  long  life  I 
have  met  with  only  two  or  three  such  remarkable 
instances  as  this  of  yours." 

"  Say  what  you  wish  to  say,  and  go,"  said  Nino 
roughly. 

"  Certainly.  And  whenever  I  have  met  with  such 
an  instance  I  have  done  my  very  utmost  to  reduce 
it  to  the  common  level,  and  to  prove  to  myself  that 
no  such  thing  really  exists.  I  find  it  a  dangerous 
thing,  however ;  for  an  old  man  in  love  is  likely  to 


368  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

exhibit  precisely  the  agreeable  and  striking  pecul 
iarities  you  have  so  aptly  designated."  There  was 
something  so  odd  about  his  manner  and  about  the 
things  he  said  that  Nino  was  silent,  and  allowed 
him  to  proceed. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  continued,  "  that  love  is  a  very 
rare  thing,  nowadays,  and  is  so  very  generally  an 
abominable  sham  that  I  have  often  amused  myself 
by  diabolically  devising  plans  for  its  destruction. 
On  this  occasion  I  very  nearly  came  to  grief  myself. 
The  same  thing  happened  to  me  some  time  ago,  — 
about  forty  years,  I  should  say,  —  and  I  perceive 
that  it  has  not  been  forgotten.  It  may  amuse  you 
to  look  at  this  paper,  which  I  chance  to  have  with 
me.  Good-morning.  I  leave  for  St.  Petersburg  at 
once." 

"  I  believe  you  are  really  the  Wandering  Jew !  " 
cried  Nino,  as  Benoni  left  the  room. 

"  His  name  was  certainly  Ahasuerus,"  Benoni 
replied  from  the  outer  door.  "  But  it  may  be  a 
coincidence,  after  all.  Good-by."  He  was  gone. 

I  was  the  first  to  take  up  the  paper  he  had  thrown 
upon  a  chair.  There  was  a  passage  marked  with  a 
red  pencil.  I  read  it  aloud  :  — 

"...  Baron  Benoni,  the  wealthy  banker  of  St. 
Petersburg,  who  was  many  years  ago  an  inmate  of 
a  private  lunatic  asylum  in  Paris,  is  reported  to  be 
dangerously  insane  in  Rome."  That  was  all.  The 
paper  was  the  Paris  "  Figaro." 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Hedwig,  "  and 
I  was  shut  up  with  that  madman  in  Fillettino !  " 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  369 

Nino  was  already  by  her  side,  and  in  his  strong 
arms  she  forgot  Benoni,  and  Fillettino,  and  all  her 
troubles.  We  were  all  silent  for  some  time.  At 
last  Nino  spoke. 

"  Is  it  true  that  the  count  was  here  this  morn 
ing?  "  he  asked,  in  a  subdued  voice,  for  the  extraor 
dinary  visit  and  its  sequel  had  made  him  grave. 

"  Quite  true,"  I  said.  "  He  was  here  a  long 
time.  I  would  not  spoil  your  pleasure  by  telling 
you  of  it,  when  you  first  came." 

"  What  did  he  —  what  did  my  father  say  ?  "  asked 
Hedwig  presently. 

"My  dear  children,"  I  answered,  thinking  I 
might  well  call  them  so,  "  he  said  a  great  many 
unpleasant  things,  so  that  I  offered  to  fight  him  if 
he  said  any  more."  At  this  they  both  laid  hold  of 
me  and  began  to  caress  me ;  and  one  smoothed  my 
hair,  and  the  other  embraced  me,  so  that  I  was 
half  smothered. 

"  Dear  Signor  Grandi,"  cried  Hedwig  anxiously, 
"  how  good  and  brave  you  are  !  "  She  does  not 
know  what  a  coward  I  am,  you  see,  and  I  hope  she 
will  never  find  out,  for  nothing  was  ever  said  to  me 
that  gave  me  half  so  much  pleasure  as  to  be  called 
brave  by  her,  the  dear  child ;  and  if  she  never  finds 
out,  she  may  say  it  again,  some  day.  Besides,  I 
really  did  offer  to  fight  Lira,  as  I  have  told  you. 

"  And  what  is  he  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Nino,  in 
some  anxiety. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  told  him  it  was  all  legal,  and 
that  he  could  not  touch  you  at  all.  I  also  said  you 
24 


370  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

were  staying  at  the  hotel  Costanzi,  where  he  might 
find  you,  if  he  wished." 

"  Oh  1     Did  you  tell  him  that  ?  "  asked  Hedwig. 

"  It  was  quite  right,"  said  Nino.  "  He  ought  to 
know,  of  course.  And  what  else  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing  especial,  Nino  mio.  He  went  away  in 
a  sort  of  ill  temper  because  I  would  not  let  him 
abuse  you  as  much  as  he  pleased." 

"  He  may  abuse  me  and  be  welcome,"  said  Nino. 
"  He  has  some  right  to  be  angry  with  me.  But  he 
will  think  differently  some  day."  So  we  chatted 
away  for  an  hour,  enjoying  the  rest  and  the  peace 
and  the  sweet  sunshine  of  the  Easter  afternoon. 
But  this  was  the  day  of  interruptions.  There  was 
one  more  visitor  to  come,  —  one  more  scene  for  me 
to  tell  you,  and  then  I  have  done. 

A  carriage  drove  down  the  street  and  seemed  to 
stop  at  the  door  of  my  house.  Nino  looked  idly 
out  of  the  window.  Suddenly  he  started. 

"  Hedwig,  Hedwig  !  "  he  cried,  "  here  is  your  fa 
ther  coming  back  !  "  She  would  not  look  out,  but 
stood  back  from  the  window,  turning  pale.  If  there 
were  one  thing  she  dreaded,  it  was  a  meeting  with 
her  father.  All  the  old  doubt  as  to  whether  she 
had  done  right  seemed  to  come  back  to  her  face  in 
a  moment.  But  Nino  turned  and  looked  at  her, 
and  his  face  was  so  triumphant  that  she  got  back 
her  courage,  and  clasping  his  hand  bravely  awaited 
what  was  to  come. 

I  myself  went  to  the  door,  and  heard  Lira's  slow 
tread  on  the  stairs.  Before  long  he  appeared,  and 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  371 

glanced  up  at  me  from  the  steps,  which  he  climbed, 
one  at  a  time,  with  his  stick. 

"  Is  my  daughter  here  ?  "  he  asked  as  soon  as  he 
reached  me ;  and  his  voice  sounded  subdued,  just 
as  Nino's  did  when  Benoni  had  gone.  I  conducted 
him  into  the  room.  It  was  the  strangest  meeting. 
The  proud  old  man  bowed  stiffly  to  Hedwig,  as 
though  he  had  never  before  seen  her.  Nino  and 

O 

Hedwig  also  bent  their  heads,  and  there  was  a 
silence  as  of  death  in  the  sunny  room. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Von  Lira  at  last,  and  with 
evident  effort,  "  I  wish  to  have  a  word  with  you. 
These  two  gentlemen  —  the  younger  of  whom  is 
now,  as  I  understand  it,  your  husband  —  may  well 
hear  what  I  wish  to  say." 

I  moved  a  chair  so  that  he  might  sit  down,  but 
he  stood  up  to  his  full  height,  as  though  not  deign 
ing  to  be  older  than  the  rest.  I  watched  Hedwig, 
and  saw  how  with  both  hands  she  clung  to  Nino's 
arm,  and  her  lip  trembled,  and  her  face  wore  the 
look  it  had  when  I  saw  her  in  Fillettino. 

As  for  Nino,  his  stern,  square  jaw  was  set,  and 
his  brows  bent,  but  he  showed  no  emotion,  unless 
the  darkness  in  his  face  and  the  heavy  shadows  be 
neath  his  eyes  foretold  ready  anger. 

"  I  am  no  trained  reasoner,  like  Signor  Grandi," 
said  Lira,  looking  straight  at  Hedwig,  "  but  I  can 
•say  plainly  what  I  mean,  for  all  that.  There  was  a 
good  old  law  in  Sparta,  whereby  disobedient  chil 
dren  were  put  to  death  without  mercy.  Sparta  was 
a  good  country,  — ;  very  like  Prussia,  but  less  great. 


372  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

You  know  what  I  mean.  You  have  cruelly  diso 
beyed  me,  —  cruelly,  I  say,  because  you  have  shown 
me  that  all  my  pains  and  kindness  and  discipline 
have  been  in  vain.  There  is  nothing  so  sorrowful 
for  a  good  parent  as  to  discover  that  he  has  made 
a  mistake." 

(The  canting  old  proser,  I  thought,  will  he  never 
finish ! ) 

"  The  mistake  I  refer  to  is  not  in  the  way  I  have 
dealt  with  you,"  he  went  on,  "  for  on  that  score  I 
have  nothing  to  reproach  myself.  But  I  was  mis 
taken  in  supposing  you  loved  me.  You  have  de 
spised  all  I  have  done  for  you." 

"  Oh,  father !  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  cried 
poor  Hedwig,  clinging  closer  to  Nino. 

"At  all  events,  you  have  acted  as  though  you 
did.  On  the  very  day  when  I  promised  you  to 
take  signal  action  upon  Baron  Benoni,  you  left  me 
by  stealth,  saying  in  your  miserable  letter  that  you 
had  gone  to  a  man  who  could  both  love  and  protect 
you." 

"You  did  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  sir," 
said  Nino  boldly,  "when  you  required  of  your 
daughter  to  marry  such  a  man  as  Benoni." 

"  I  have  just  seen  Benoni ;  I  saw  him  also  on 
the  night  you  left  me,  madam,"  —  he  looked  se 
verely  at  Hedwig,  —  "  and  I  am  reluctantly  forced 
to  confess  that  he  is  not  sane,  according  to  the  or 
dinary  standard  of  the  mind." 

We  had  all  known  from  the  paper  of  the  suspi 
cion  that  rested  on  Benoni's  sanity,  yet  somehow 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  373 

there  was  a  little  murmur  in  the  room  when  the  old 
count  so  clearly  stated  his  opinion. 

"That  does  not,  however,  alter  the  position  in 
the  least,"  continued  Lira,  "  for  you  knew  nothing 
of  this  at  the  time  I  desired  you  to  marry  him,  and 
I  should  have  found  it  out  soon  enough  to  prevent 
mischief.  Instead  of  trusting  to  my  judgment,  you 
took  the  law  into  your  own  hands,  like  a  most  un 
natural  daughter,  as  you  are,  and  disappeared  in 
the  night  with  a  man  whom  I  consider  totally  unfit 
for  you,  however  superior,"  he  added,  glancing  at 
Nino,  "  he  may  have  proved  himself  in  his  own 
rank  of  life." 

Nino  could  not  hold  his  tongue  any  longer.  It 
seemed  absurd  that  there  should  be  a  battle  of 
words  when  all  the  realities  of  the  affair  were  ac 
complished  facts ;  but  for  his  life  he  could  not  help 
speaking. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  addressing  Lira,  "  I  rejoice  that 
this  opportunity  is  given  me  of  once  more  speaking 
clearly  to  you.  Months  ago,  when  I  was  betrayed 
into  a  piece  of  rash  violence,  for  which  I  at  once 
apologized  to  you,  I  told  you  under  somewhat  pe 
culiar  circumstances  that  I  would  yet  marry  your 
daughter,  if  she  would  have  me.  I  stand  here  to-day 
with  her  by  my  side,  my  wedded  wife,  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  kept  my  word,  and  that  she  is  mine  by 
her  own  free  consent.  Have  you  any  cause  to  show 
why  she  is  not  my  wedded  wife  ?  If  so,  show  it. 
But  I  will  not  let  you  stand  there  and  say  bitter 
and  undeserved  things  to  this  same  wife  of  mine, 


374  A   ROMAN  SIArGER. 

abusing  the  name  of  father  and  the  terms  '  author 
ity  '  and  '  love,'  f orsootli !  And  if  you  wish  to  take 
vengeance  on  me  personally,  do  so  if  you  can.  I 
will  not  fight  duels  with  you  now,  as  I  was  ready 
to  do  the  day  before  yesterday.  For  then  —  so 
short  a  time  ago  —  I  had  but  offered  her  my  life, 
and  so  that  I  gave  it  for  her  I  cared  not  how  nor 
when.  But  now  she  has  taken  me  for  hers,  and 
I  have  no  more  right  to  let  you  kill  me  than  I 
have  to  kill  myself,  seeing  that  she  and  I  are  one. 
Therefore,  good  sir,  if  you  have  words  of  concilia 
tion  to  speak,  speak  them ;  but  if  you  would  only 
tell  her  harsh  and  cruel  things,  I  say  you  shall 
not!" 

As  Nino  uttered  these  hot  words  in  good,  plain 
Italian,  they  had  a  bold  and  honest  sound  of 
strength  that  was  glorious  to  hear.  A  weaker  man 
than  the  old  count  would  have  fallen  into  a  fury  of 
rage,  and  perhaps  would  have  done  some  foolish 
violence.  But  he  stood  silent,  eying  his  antagonist 
coolly,  and  when  the  words  were  spoken  he  an 
swered. 

"Signor  Cardegna,"  he  said,  "the  fact  that  I 
am  here  ought  to  be  to  you  the  fullest  demonstra 
tion  that  I  acknowledge  your  marriage  with  my 
daughter.  I  have  certainly  no  intention  of  pro 
longing  a  painful  interview.  When  I  have  said 
that  my  child  has  disobeyed  me,  I  have  said  all 
that  the  question  holds.  As  for  the  future  of  you 
two,  I  have  naturally  nothing  more  to  say  about 
it.  I  cannot  love  a  disobedient  child,  nor  ever 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  375 

shall  again.  For  the  present,  we  will  part ;  and  if 
at  the  end  of  a  year  my  daughter  is  happy  with 
you,  and  desires  to  see  me,  I  shall  make  no  objec 
tion  to  such  a  meeting.  I  need  not  say  that  if  she 
is  unhappy  with  you,  my  house  will  always  be  open 
to  her  if  she  chooses  to  return  to  it." 

"No,  sir,  most  emphatically  you  need  not  say 
it !  "  cried  Nino,  with  blazing  eyes.  Lira  took  no 
notice  of  him,  but  turned  to  go. 

Hedwig  would  try  once  more  to  soften  him, 
though  she  knew  it  was  useless. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  tones  of  passionate  en 
treaty,  "  will  you  not  say  you  wish  me  well  ?  Will 
you  not  forgive  me  ? "  She  sprang  to  him,  and 
would  have  held  him  back. 

"  I  wish  you  no  ill,"  he  answered,  shortly,  push 
ing  her  aside,  and  he  marched  to  the  door,  where 
he  paused,  bowed  as  stiffly  as  ever,  and  disap 
peared. 

It  was  very  rude  of  us,  perhaps,  but  no  one  ac 
companied  him  to  the  stairs.  As  for  me,  I  would 
not  have  believed  it  possible  that  any  human  being 
could  be  so  hard  and  relentlessly  virtuous  ;  and  if 
I  had  wondered  at  first  that  Hedwig  should  have 
so  easily  made  up  her  mind  to  flight,  I  was  no 
longer  surprised  when  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  how 
he  could  treat  her. 

I  cannot,  indeed,  conceive  how  she  could  have 
borne  it  so  long,  for  the  whole  character  of  the 
man  came  out,  hard,  cold,  and  narrow,  —  such  a 
character  as  must  be  more  hideous  than  any  de- 


376  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

scription  can  paint  it,  when  seen  in  the  closeness  of 
daily  conversation.  But  when  he  was  gone  the 
sun  appeared  to  shine  again,  as  he  had  shone  all 
day,  though  it  had  sometimes  seemed  so  dark.  The 
storms  were  in  that  little  room. 

As  Lira  went  out,  Nino,  who  had  followed  Hed- 
wig  closely,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  once  more 
her  face  rested  on  his  broad  breast.  I  sat  down 
and  pretended  to  be  busy  with  a  pile  of  old  papers 
that  lay  near  by  on  the  table,  but  I  could  hear 
what  they  said.  The  dear  children,  they  forgot  all 
about  me. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear  one,"  said  Nino,  sooth 
ingly. 

"  I  know  you  are,  Nino.  But  it  cannot  be 
helped." 

"But  are  you  sorry,  too,  Hedwig?"  he  asked, 
stroking  her  hair. 

"  That  my  father  is  angry  ?  Yes.  I  wish  he 
were  not,"  said  she,  looking  wistfully  toward  the 
door. 

"  No,  not  that,"  said  Nino.  "  Sorry  that  you 
left  him,  I  mean." 

"Ah,  no,  I  am  not  sorry  for  that.  Oh,  Nino, 
dear  Nino,  your  love  is  best."  And  again  she  hid 
her  face. 

"  We  will  go  away  at  once,  darling,"  he  said, 
after  a  minute,  during  which  I  did  not  see  what 
was  going  on.  "  "Would  you  like  to  go  away?  " 

Hedwig  moved  her  head  to  say  "  Yes." 

"  We  will  go,  then,  sweetheart.     Where  shall  it 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  377 

be  ? "  asked  Nino,  trying  to  distract  her  thoughts 
from  what  had  just  occurred.  "  London  ?  Paris  ? 
Vienna  ?  I  can  sing  anywhere  now,  but  you  must 
always  choose,  love." 

"  Anywhere,  anywhere ;  only  always  with  you, 
Nino,  till  we  die  together." 

"  Always,  till  we  die,  my  beloved,"  he  repeated. 
The  small  white  hands  stole  up  and  clasped  about 
his  broad  throat,  tenderly  drawing  his  face  to  hers, 
and  hers  to  his.  And  it  will  be  "always,"  till  they 
die  together,  I  think. 

This  is  the  story  of  that  Roman  singer  whose 
great  genius  is  making  such  a  stir  in  the  world. 
I  have  told  it  to  you,  because  he  is  my  own  dear 
boy,  as  I  have  often  said  in  these  pages ;  and  be 
cause  people  must  not  think  that  he  did  wrong  to 
carry  Hedwig  von  Lira  away  from  her  father,  nor 
that  Hedwig  was  so  very  unfilial  and  heartless.  I 
know  that  they  were  both  right,  and  the  day  will 
come  when  old  Lira  will  acknowledge  it.  He  is  a 
hard  old  man,  but  he  must  have  some  affection  for 
her ;  and  if  not,  he  will  surely  have  the  vanity  to 
own  so  famous  an  artist  as  Nino  for  his  son-in-law. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was  managed,  for  Hedwig 
was  certainly  a  heretic  when  she  left  her  father, 
though  she  was  an  angel,  as  Nino  said.  But  before 
they  left  Rome  for  Vienna  there  was  a  little  wed 
ding,  early  in  the  morning,  in  our  parish  church, 
for  I  was  there ;  and  De  Pretis,  who  was  really 
responsible  for  the  whole  thing,  got  some  of  his 


378  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

best  singers  from  St.  Peter  and  St.  John  on  the 
Lateran  to  come  and  sing  a  mass  over  the  two. 
I  think  that  our  good  Mother  Church  found  room 
for  the  dear  child  very  quickly,  and  that  is  how  it 
happened. 

They  are  happy  and  glad  together,  those  two 
hearts  that  never  knew  love  save  for  each  other, 
and  they  will  be  happy  always.  For  it  was  nothing 
but  love  with  them  from  the  very  first,  and  so  it 
must  be  to  the  very  last.  Perhaps  you  will  say 
that  there  is  nothing  in  this  story,  either,  but  love. 
And  if  so,  it  is  well ;  for  where  there  is  naught 
else  there  can  surely  be  no  sinning,  or  wrong-doing, 
or  weakness,  or  meanness ;  nor  yet  anything  that 
is  not  quite  pure  and  undefiled. 

Just  as  I  finish  this  writing,  there  comes  a  letter 
from  Nino  to  say  that  he  has  taken  steps  about 
buying  Serveti,  and  that  I  must  go  there  in  the 
spring  with  Mariuccia  and  make  it  ready  for  him. 
Dear  Serveti,  of  course  I  will  go. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV  14 19  it 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L  BRARYFAC  LITY 


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1884 


A    001  384  681    1 


